Tнє Bartoη Saga Book Four: The Masks We Wear
by crossMIRAGE19
Summary: "This is where it all begins," Anya Barton wants nothing but help her new charge adapt in Hogwarts and keep up with her classes. This year though, the TriWizard Tournament is being held in their school, and it seems she and her friends can't get out of the trouble. And things only began to complicate when a boy with oddly familiar eyes begins to follow her everywhere.
1. Out of Sight

Anya Barton has been called by many names but psychic was not one of them.

Her hand stopped moving and letting out a frustrated yell, she threw away the pencil and the journal to the other side of the room. Breathing deeply, she grabbed her hair with both hands and closed her eyes tightly.

Marie took one look at her and lowered _Hogwarts: A History_ to her lap. Her blue eyes darted from the red leather journal that Remus Lupin had given to Anya last year, to the girl curled under the pink hammock. Sighing, she stood from the bureau and bent to pick it up. Without hesitating, she moved through the pages until she reached the page where Anya had been. Marie blinked, raising her eyebrows and her mouth opened, forming a small 'o'.

Her fingers lightly traced the dark tones Anya had used for this particular drawing. It was the most disturbing scene the older teenager had drawn, and Marie knew Anya tried to avoid everything that reminded her of her time as Voldemort's executioner. It had been a year since then, and Anya had made a lot of progress with her friends and herself. So why was she drawing an old abandoned manor with snakes surrounding it?

Marie looked over at Anya.

"Has Potter talked to you about having strange dreams?"

* * *

_Lightning flashed outside the window and rain began to pour. Wary, I walked down the hall, one hand touching a worn wall for balance, the other holding my aspen wand. I stopped briefly by another window, and stared at my reflection. Wide hazel eyes stared back. My long hair was a downright mess and the white nightie I was wearing was stained with dust and cobwebs. I shuddered at the thought of carrying spiders with me._

* * *

"Why should I?" said Anya, her voice muffled by her hands.

Marie rolled her eyes. Stopping in front of her, she gave her a gentle nudge with her foot. Sighing, Anya dropped her hands and looked up at her, her gaunt and pale face tired, marred by nightmares.

"You know why."

* * *

_I started to climb the stairs, dust dancing around my feet. Once I reached the landing, I looked to the sides, deciding to go to the right. Voices began to reach my ears._

* * *

"He'll probably think I'm going mad," she muttered.

"And if you don't tell him, you'll end up going mad," said Marie, snapping the journal shut. She slammed it down the bureau and looked down at Anya coolly.

"Was it the same thing?" she asked, gently. "Was it Riddle?"

* * *

_The doors began to rattle. I whirled on the spot, looking behind me. I was met by a wall._

_"No!" I gasped, and began to hit the wall with my fists. "No! Let me out!"_

_"There's a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry."_

_I stilled._

_"Later," said a second voice. I shivered, recognizing it from the first time I met the most feared man in the Wizarding World. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."_

_I twisted around, hitting my back on the wall as I gritted my teeth. Wormtail. Wormtail was there, too._

_I followed the long sliver of golden light shining across the floor, reaching out for the frame of the door and peered inside. The grate at the end of the room had been lit with fire, casting long shadows across the walls. I turned my right ear toward the door, leaning my head closely. Wormtail, I recognized, put down a bottle of whiskey on the table and then dragged an elegant chair into place._

_"Where is Nagini?" said Voldemort._

_"I — I don't know, My Lord," Wormatail stuttered. "She set out to explore the house, I think…" _

_"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail. I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."_

_Frowning, I opened the door a little and leaned closer._

_"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?" _

_"A week, perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."_

_"The — the Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?" said Wormtail. "Forgive me, but — I do not understand – why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"_

_"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."_

_Breathe in, breathe out. _

_"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail said quietly. _

_"Certainly I am determined, Wormtail."_

_"It could be done without Harry Potter, My Lord."_

_Voldemort paused._

_"Without Harry Potter?" he breathed. "I see…"_

_"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!" said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. "The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard — any wizard — the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while — you know that I can disguise myself most effectively — I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person —"_

_"I could use another wizard, that is true…" the wistful way his voice sounded made me shiver slightly._

_"My Lord, it makes sense," said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now. "Laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected —"_

_"And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder… perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?"_

_"My Lord! I — I have no wish to leave you, none at all —" _

_"Do not lie to me!" hissed the second voice. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me…" _

_"No! My devotion to Your Lordship —"_

_"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"_

_"But you seem so much stronger, My Lord —"_

_"Liar," breathed the second voice. "I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!"_

_Wormtail obeyed. I held the door frame tightly, my other hand trembling._

_"I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail — courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldermort's wrath —" _

_"My Lord, I must speak!" said Wormtail, panic in his voice now. "All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head — My Lord, Bertha Jorkin's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder —" _

_"If?" whispered the second voice. "If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition… Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us —" _

_"I am a faithful servant," said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice. _

_"Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfill neither requirement." _

_"I found you," said Wormtail, sounding sulky. "I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins."_

_"That is true," Voldemort mused. "A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail — though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?" _

_"I — I thought she might be useful, My Lord —" _

_"Liar," said Voldemort in cruel amusement. "However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform…" _

_"R-really, My Lord? What —?" Wormtail sounded terrified again. _

_"Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end… but I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins." _

_"You… you… you… are going… to kill me too?" My eyes widened. I turned my head, trying to catch sight of anything at this rate._

_"Wormtail, Wormtail, why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns…"_

_"We could erase her memories..." Wormtail said._

_Voldemort laughed, and talked as if he were scolding a child for his idiocy._

_"Memory Charms can be broken, Wormtail, as proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to not use the information I extracted from her."_

_My teeth clenched as I imagined what that poor woman had to go through. I was no stranger when it came to him playing with minds._

_"One more murder… my faithful servant at Hogwarts… Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet… I think I hear Nagini… come, Nagini, come..."_

_And I heard movement coming from behind me in the dark passageway. Just as I turned to look, I froze, staring transfixed at the creature slithering down the corridor on the floor. The large snake's scales shone like emeralds in the dark, its yellow eyes staring directly at my form. _

_What was I going to do? It was either getting eaten by the snake or be murdered by Voldemort!_

_But then the snake just passed under my legs and went inside the room, lulled by its master's cold voice. I realized then that Voldemort had been speaking Parseltongue for a while._

_"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail," said Voldemort._

_"In-indeed, My Lord?" _

_"Indeed, yes," said the voice, "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."_

_"Wha - a Muggle?" I breathed. Before I could run, the door was pulled open and I was nose-to-nose with Peter Pettigrew. Frozen in fear, I stared at him, shocked._

_"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?" Against all my instincts, I carefully stepped inside the room. I took a glance at Nagini and stopped over the threshold, standing behind Voldemort's chair. For some strange reason, his head didn't seem to even reach the top of the chair._

_"You heard everything, Muggle?" I opened my mouth, outraged but instead of telling him what I wanted, I heard myself say, "What's that you're calling me?"_

_What is happening?!_

_"I am calling you a Muggle," said the Voldemort coolly. "It means that you are not a wizard." _

_You're wrong. My name is Anya Barton and I'm student at Hogwarts, and I am in my fourth year!_

_"I don't know what you mean by wizard." I wanted to cry. Was I hexed to voice anything but the truth? "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too, my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back —"_

_"You have no wife! Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows… he always knows…"_

_Almost sobbing, I said, "Is that right? Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"_

_"But I am not a man, Muggle," said Voldemort, whose voice was barely audible now over the crackling of the flames."I am much, much more than a man. However… why not? I will face you… Wormtail, come turn my chair around."_

_Pettigrew whimpered._

_"You heard me, Wormtail," growled Voldemort. Looking as though he wished to do anything but that, Peter Pettigrew slowly began to turn the chair._

_And then the chair was facing me. I snapped my eyes tightly shut and let out a scream._

_"Avada Kedabra!"_

_I continued screaming, haltering, when there was a thud. Horrified, I looked down at the body of an old man, his eyes staring up at me with utmost fear, even though he was already dead._

_"Hello Anya Barton," said the loathsome creature in the chair. "We have been expecting you."_

* * *

"No," Anya gasped. "It was something much more worse."

Marie leaned back. "What could possibly be more terrible than him?"

Anya shook her head and motioned at her journal. Just as Marie handed it over, she quickly began to make lines and lines with her pencil, slowly forming a small shape in the thick page.

When Anya showed her the drawing, Marie couldn't hide her disgust. She dropped the journal, as if the small notebook had been set on fire like its predecessor.

Staring back at her was an ugly version of a child, curled, hairless and scaly looking, its face flat and snake-like. The only color Anya had added was in the eyes, a deep shade of red.

"Voldemort," said Anya quietly. "Not Riddle but the Voldemort that caused the war. And he's planning to kill Harry this year."

Despite her friend looked completely terrified, Marie couldn't help but snort and said, "When isn't he?"

* * *

**And this is where everything starts. A prelude to the Second War. **

**I changed the stories' titles because I wanted to keep the first version of Fourth Year. I grew very fond of it and I consider it my first success. Hopefully, this one will attract just as many readers as that one.**

**Which House do you want Marie (Mah - ree - eh) to get sorted in? I have put a poll of it in my biography, so please vote! If you don't have an account or don't want to vote, share your opinion on a review. Personally, I think she would do well in Ravenclaw or Slytherin. She's too sneaky to be a Gryffindor and doesn't interact much to be in Hufflepuff.**


	2. About a Boy

**To not confuse anyone, the beginning of the chapter is placed before the prologue happens.**

* * *

1st of July.

It was my birthday.

And the first thing I saw when I woke up was a big blue bird leaning down on my face.

I bit back a scream, and stared wide eyed, breathing heavily. I tilted my head to the side, the bird following. My eye twitched.

"Marie?" I called loudly, moving carefully to not disturb the bird.

"Yeah?"

I blinked. It sounded like she was still in the attic – and nearby.

"There's a blue bird inside the room."

There was a beat before she replied, and this time, her voice was closer.

"Its a macaw."

I gritted my teeth. "It could be fucking lizard for all I care – _a bird is leaning down on my face_!"

Marie sighed loudly from wherever she was, and then, to my surprise, she made an odd whistling sound. The bird's head snapped up and he flew off. I jumped from the hammock and watched as it landed on her shoulder, its large beak nuzzling the girl's black hair.

"Couldn't you have done that before I woke up?" I asked crossly.

Marie shrugged.

Sighing, I looked over the room and found a small pile of presents waiting for me next to the bureau.

I smiled. Ever since I was told I was a witch, my life had been like a full ride of messes, whether they were good or bad. One of the pros was the fact I had friends, and somehow, I haven't scared them off yet. Or maybe they were plain stupid.

Either way, I loved them.

I swatted Caleb away with my hand as he started to flap around my head annoyingly. The little odd owl had been a gift from my uncle, Sirius Black, who at the moment was considered the most dangerous criminal in both the Muggle and Wizarding World; accused of being a murderer of thirteen people and also blamed for giving the Potters' location to Voldemort (which lead them to their ultimate death), Sirius had been sent to Azkaban without having a trial. Recently, he managed to fool the Dementors and escaped from prison on a mad search for Pettigrew. 'Course, that didn't go well, but at least he wasn't behind the bars this time.

"Don't diss the owl," Marie scolded. It was natural she was closer to Caleb, as it had been her whom named it after she informed me she was accepted at Hogwarts. Marie 'Harlaown' was a girl with straight black hair and deep blue eyes. At the beginning, I thought she was kind of strange as she usually was unemotional; when she speaks, most of the time she sounds dry and sarcastic. But now, I'm grateful of her. Dealing with nightmares since my second years isn't easy, and she was a great listener, pointing out obvious things that would be considered rather harsh for others but to me, they were like some 'kick on the butt'.

We both weren't exactly considered as normal.

I peered down curiously at the stack and chose to open the familiar wrapping of a parcel. Like the last time, Mrs. Weasley didn't hold back at all and baked a small lumpy chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Annie_ written on it in pink icing. There was also a new jumper for the collection: this time, the pink fabric was thinner and she had knitted large shooting stars on the sleeves. It was obvious that she had specially made it to wear in summer. From her son, I got sweats and chocolate. Hermione, always the bookworm, had sent me a book called The Beginning of Magic: Vol.1, which contained many theories of where magic was conceived and what were the first methods of sorcery that had been practiced. Neville, my closest friend since last year, had also sent his regards with a beautiful transparent flower that resembled a lily but was better known as the _Crystal of the Moon_. His gift didn't surprise me much because he loved Herbology and also tutored me on it.

The next package was wrapped in red paper and I hid a snort, recognizing Harry's horrible techniques in gift-wrapping. The gift though, was all the contrary. It was not as spectacular as the owl necklace he had given me last year, but it touched my heart the same. It was a small metal figurine of a husky, painted in black and white, the small irises of its eyes shining like small diamonds. How Harry found out my mother's animagus form was a husky dog, I didn't know, but I suspected Sirius had a lot to do with it. After all, it had been Remus Lupin who told me of this fact once in a letter some time ago.

Speaking of Lupin, I found a small parcel hiding on the bottom. It was a small photo album of his Hogwarts' days as a student, picturing all of the Marauders in them except for Peter Pettigrew. I was grateful he took that detail in mind when he prepared this.

I heard a high pitched scream from behind me. I whirled around and saw Natasha holding a hand to her chest, her blue-green eyes staring wide eyed at Marie's shoulder where the Macaw still was perched on.

She was taking deep breaths. "How - what in Merlin's name is a tropical bird doing here?!"

"Its not a bird, its a macaw!" Marie huffed.

"It could be a rat for all I care!" Natasha snapped. I blinked, realizing how similar her reaction to mine was. "What is it doing here?"

It turned out the bird was sent by Sirius. According to his letter, he was somewhere near the south, and had passed my a little town near the shores where they had held a carnival, a wizarding one probably, the postcard he sent for Harry had people laughing an dancing while they wore colorful costumes.

Along the postcard, he had sent also a parcel. When I opened it, I found out it was a birthday present from him. It was one of those white masks that covered all of the face, the lips with glowing in golden paint and tears painted in black ran from its eyes' sockets.

"How depressing," Marie said, eyeing the mask with a raised eyebrow.

"That's Sirius for you," said Natasha with a little snort. "Always living up to his name."

Natasha made everything of the sort to avoid talking of her ex-fiancé. It was obviously hard for her that the "love of her life" was back again on her life and so abruptly, when she had grown used to loneliness for almost fourteen years. I can't even imagine how would these two react if they were in the same room: I discovered she could barely even talk to me about Remus without her having a stroke or something, and he was still alive and I _already_ met him. Fortunately to Natasha, Sirius was still on the run, and he knew better than to be seen by the Ministry of Magic. Owl services were sponsored by them, I realized, so the macaw probably was the only way he had to communicate with us.

Rolling my eyes at them, I continued to look at it and surprisingly, found a small poster that had strange drawings that were a mix of art nouveau and watercolor. I noticed the words at the end of the paper and I snorted.

In large curvy letters, it said, "We all Wear Masks. Which one is yours?"

* * *

Harry's birthday came and went as the wind, and before I knew it, August began. And later, it was only a week before I would go to the Burrow for the Quidditch World Cup.

Then the nightmare happened, and it wasn't until Marie left that I looked at the mask again. It was hanging at the top of the round window, looking down at us silently with its black, empty eyes. From there, my eyes trailer over the poster that Marie had insisted to stick on her side of the wall.

_Which one is yours?_

She was right, of course. I had to tell Harry of the dream. I couldn't keep hiding behind a mask - or maybe I shouldn't wear the same mask this time.

Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, hitting my head softly on the wall.

I simply had to learn and wear another one.

* * *

"Send my regards to your boyfriend," said Marie, as always, emotionless. The tiny smirk pulling at her lips gave her away though, so I didn't take her seriously. Not _this_ time, anyways.

The first time she had said it, she had caught me off ward. _Really_ off ward. It had been in the summer before my second year at Hogwarts (_before Tom_): it was my turn to sweep the basement, as poor Suri, a girl of my age but very fragile, had caught a cold. Natasha fortunately had been around and her and Virginia - the assistant before Jenna, the recent one, were able to lower her fever. Because Suri was one of the few girls who weren't biased when it came to me (or wasn't scared, if the smiles she always gave me weren't fake), I offered to do her chores.

Of course, with my luck, it had to be the basement of all places.

With a thin torch at my hand and a blue bandana covering my mouth, I quickly put on a pair of rubber gloves and holding the broom tightly in front of me as a shield, I set down the stairs. Just when I had thought it wasn't so bad, Marie, damn her, had sneaked behind me and said, curiously, "Is the boy with pretty eyes your boyfriend?" There was no doubt who 'pretty eyes' was.

After that traumatic experience, it didn't come off as a surprise the next times Marie commented on it. It used to fluster me, but then it got annoying, and now... well, now I wasn't sure how to react to it. I conformed myself to act deaf when she speaks.

But there were things I couldn't just easily ignore as that.

I hesitated a bit as I stopped by the red bike, my fingers itching to touch it and let myself carry away, away from this place and away from what I was about to do.

Fear won. Sighing, I closed my eyes and took three larger steps away from it, and once I was sure there was no temptation - or before it could get back - I began to walk toward the old playground, making my way to Privet Drive, specifically, number four.

The little suburban neighborhood was calm as always, except for a few children playing outside their homes. I walked past a man watering his garden and a girl jumping on a rope before I finally reached the Durleys' home. Not pausing at the front door, I walked around the house and picked up a stone, immediately throwing it at the window to the right. When he didn't answer, I sighed exasperatedly and picked up the same stone and threw it again. This time, Harry did peer out, his green eyes curiously glinting.

He slid his window open. "Anya?" he said slowly.

"Nope," I chirped. "'S Santa Claus." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, it's you," he sighed. "What are you doing here?"

I pursued my lips, looking anywhere but him. He was right to ask: I had not seen him since his birthday and if I was right, the Weasleys were going to pick him up tomorrow. I would use floo powder to go at their house in early Monday for the Quidditch World Cup. But this was important.

Slowly, I pulled out a very colorful postcard and showed it in the light, waving the small card from side to side. "You've got a macaw."

Quick as lightning, the window was abruptly closed. I smiled to myself, putting my hands inside my trousers' pockets. He didn't have to know that the thing was actually on my possession since the beginning of August.

I was still smiling when Harry opened the back door and came out, putting on a grey hoodie. One of the sleeves got caught in the door and he tried to pull it off in the most ridiculous way. Laughing, I approached him and opened the door. Harry stumbled.

"Well?" he demanded. Cocking my head to the side, I handed him the postcard over and watched as he eagerly looked down at the image. Sirius wasn't near the carnival anymore but instead, the image showed us of a rather pretty beach, the waves almost shining in green and blue colors that naturally seemed to mix well with the cloudless sky.

"Snuffles sends his regards," I said, watching him amused. Before I had known he was a wizard, I had met Sirius as a black shaggy dog my roommate had found roaming around Little Whinging and named him Snuffles. The name was no longer necessary but it was a way Harry and I used to refer to him when we didn't want people overhearing us.

_Speaking of people_, I thought, watching over Harry's shoulder as his aunt stared accusingly at us through her small window. When she caught my gaze, she closed the curtains, but I could still see one blue eye peeking through. Harry had told them his godfather was a mass-murderer and conveniently forgot to mention he was in fact, innocent.

Looking back at Harry, I almost jumped, realizing he was staring at me with brows furrowed.

I crossed my arms self-consciously. "What?"

"What are you wearing?"

Affronted, I looked down at myself and unconsciously crossed my arms. Apart from yellow trousers, I was wearing my usual pair of white old sneakers and a white strapless blouse with the Weird Sisters logo on it.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing! Its just, different I guess."

I looked him in the eye, and said, serious, "Good different or bad different?"

Harry shrugged, impishly. "Good different."

I nodded, pleased. "Good answer, wonder boy. Come on, lets go to Ernie's. Lunch's on me."

* * *

Despite its questionable site, Ernie's Dinner was one of the most popular food places in Little Whinging; many did not like it but the most were already used to the tremors caused by the trams. It was Mrs. Logan's appraised cooking that was able to hold up the business.

From all the way over, Harry had argued I didn't have to invite him, that he could actually pay for himself, when all of his money was in Gringotts. I reminded him, pointedly, that he was getting skinnier because of the Dursleys' new diet regimen even though we all (meaning Hermione, Ron and his mom, Hagrid and I) had sent him food. Harry didn't fight again but told me he would repay me. Being familiar with his way of thinking, I didn't doubt him.

As we sat down, a pretty dark-skinned girl with curly hair came and politely asked what we wished to eat. Familiar with the menu, I ordered for both. While we waited, I tapped my hand on the table as Elvis Presley's '_Suspicious Minds_' blared from the well-kept jukebox at the corner, lightly humming under my breath. Harry's eyes brightened when the girl returned with two plates of food, one being his favorite, treacle tart. He shot the girl a smile and from where I sat, I could see how her cheeks stained with a small blush, darkening her skin.

I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing; instead, I picked at one of my chips and watched Harry while he ate. His black-jet hair had grown a bit longer but it was still messy as ever; his body had gotten leaner too, and it seemed he had finally caught up with me in stature. (I was still taller by two inches though)

"She likes you," I said, smirking.

Harry didn't bother to ask what I was talking about. "No, she doesn't."

I tilted my head, looking sideways at the girl. "She's glaring at me." I raised my eyebrows.

"So?"

"She's probably dreaming of twisting my neck," I mused, resting my elbow on the table and leaned my chin on my hand.

"I'm dreaming of covering your mouth with duct tape," said Harry.

"Is it hard to believe someone could fancy you?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Oh, you do," I realized. I lowered the chip I was going to eat. "Give me your hand."

Lowering his fork, he eyed me suspiciously, his gaze flickering down at the hand I was shoving up to his face. "Why?"

"Just do it. It won't hurt at all -" I crossed my heart, "- swear."

Harry sighed and admitted defeat by placing his hand on the table. Trying to not shoot him a triumphant grin, I snatched it quickly and began to look at them, smiling through all the process.

"Smile and look up at the bar," I mumbled, from the corner of my mouth. As he did so, I noticed how calloused his hands were, probably from playing Quidditch.

"If looks could kill," said Harry, amusement lacing his voice as he stifled a laugh. I snorted.

"See?" I let go of his hand and took another chip, crushing the small feeling of disappointment when . "It wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, it wasn't," Harry agreed, before he flushed.

I smiled slightly, letting out a small laugh. "Right! So..."

"So..."

Oh good Lord, I didn't even know how to begin. What if I was wrong and was panicking over nothing?!

It was too late to back out: he reached out and hesitantly took my hand. Harry looked concerned.

"Anya, what's wrong?" He was completely fixed on my face, his eyes darting from side to side as he took in the worried expression I wore, the hesitancy to speak. I never hesitated, not so publicly, and he knew. Harry knew I never let anyone see any form of weakness I could have.

"I had a dream," I said, slowly. Harry blinked, startled, and started to withdraw.

"A dream?" he repeated.

I nodded, picking at the chips absently. "Yeah, a dream... it was more like a nightmare, actually. Thing is, it was about," I puffed out my cheeks and looked up at the ceiling.

Harry looked positively alarmed, and leaned closer. "Was it about Voldemort?" he whispered.

I blinked. Without meaning to, my eyes darted up to his forehead and before he could argue, I got closer to him until we were nose to nose. I moved his bangs to the side, revealing his lightning shaped scar; it was red and raw, as if it had bled recently, although I knew it didn't. It never did.

"You dreamed of him too," I breathed, eyes narrowing. "When?" I demanded.

He hesitated. "A few days ago," he said.

"Last night," I barked, without doubt. He didn't deny my words. I drew back and stared at him. He had planned to not tell me anything of it, if I hadn't mentioned it first. "What was it about?" I asked softly, trying to not show how hurt I was.

"It was him and - and Wormtail was there too," said Harry, his eyes shooting from side to side as he watched out for any onlooker. Only the girl from before was still staring. "They talked about someone they had killed - and they were planning to kill... someone," I frowned. He was going to say 'me' but it seemed he didn't want to scare me. "And there -"

"- there was a man," I finished with him. "And he killed him."

Harry rubbed his forehead roughly. "I don't remember the rest," he admitted. I nodded. I knew better than to push him.

"But how come you dreamed of it too?" he said, sounding suspicious. "And exactly in the same moment and the _same_ dream?"

"I really, really don't know. Does it hurt?" I gestured to his scar.

"No."

Meaning yes.

I was worried. It was a thing his scar hurt, but the dreams were another. The last something like this happened we had to face him, alone, and he had almost died - not to mention I got a nasty scar on my head that would never heal completely.

"Have you written to Snuffles about it?" I asked quietly, closing my eyes briefly.

Harry nodded, looking relieved that I wouldn't pester him anymore. "Yes, something like it."

I didn't ask what he meant by that. We both were already too overwhelmed with the conversation, and it looked like it was I who had most of the details. Lucky me.


	3. Falling Boys and Forgetful Muggles

"Have you got your coat?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And your pajamas?"

I sighed. "Yes."

"What about your toothbrush? Or your hairbrush? Will you need a hairbrush though? Probably, seeing as this is international and _everyone_ is coming - even cute blokes, you have to absolutely talk to some cute bloke on the way -"

"Marie! I'm not going to be flirting with anyone nor will I search for a boyfriend!"

She paused and whirled to face me, staring as if I were a very complicated puzzle. It was odd, seeing as she still managed to look unattached at all.

"Then where is the point in going at all?" she demanded to know.

I heard someone stifling a laugh. Without bothering to turn around, I said, dryly, "I hate you both," and continued shoving a few things inside my old tattered backpack.

"No, you don't," said Natasha once I finished. She was holding a small bag of floo powder. "Are you ready?" I nodded.

Still fuming, Marie said, "You're going to be that lady that lives with twelve cats before you even realize it."

I smirked at her as I tied my hair in a high ponytail. "Why stop at twelve?"

She snorted and said, rhetorically, "Yes, why?"

It was normal I was cranky at this time in the morning. It was five o'clock in the morning! The sun wasn't even up yet!

But the Quidditch World Cup was a very important event, and very famous too. Due to security issues, no one was told of its exact location; Natasha said that the buyer had to leave his information of in which region he lived (wizarding neighborhoods were catalyzed in zones by the Ministry), and he would be told where to find his portkey, an object which takes you to the place the wizard picked.

Natasha led me, with Marie following from behind, to the darkest part of the attic, going so deep she had to pull out her wand and lit our way. She stopped beside an old wooden cabinet and muttered something under her breath. There was a flash of light, blowing my hair back, and suddenly, the bottom burst into flames.

"Is flame-proof," said Marie, just as I opened my mouth to yell in panic.

Scowling, I turned to watch the flames, noticing they looked more amber in color than red. I coughed when Natasha suddenly dropped a large amount of dust from my side and the flames turned bigger and green.

Waving my hand in front of my face, I eyed the fire.

"Is it safe?" I asked hesitantly.

"This is not my first time, kiddo," said Nat, rolling her eyes. From my other side, Marie offered me the bag of floo powder. I let out a breath and took a handful of it.

"Wish me luck," I muttered.

Marie nodded. "You will need all of it."

I stepped onto the green flames and turned around to face them. Just as I threw the powder and shouted, "the Burrow!", I could have sworn Natasha said to be careful of the masks.

The world was spinning and spinning around me, making me dizzy, and I closed my eyes, making sure to not move my arms or legs at all. Before I could fall face forward, I threw my arms out, and gripped the sides of the Weasleys' chimney, hovering above the floor as I balanced in one foot.

"That was a close one," said the familiar voice of Ginny Weasley.

I laughed, accepting the unknown hand in front of me, "Tell me about it!"

The hand belonged to none other than Hermione Granger. She squealed, and as soon as I got upright, she crushed me into a hug.

I grunted, "'Llo Mione."

"Careful there, Hermione," said Fred Weasley teasingly - or was it George?

"Yeah, Hermione," his twin agreed, "you're killing your bff there."

I snorted, "What does that mean?" said Ron groggily from where his head laid on the table.

Looking at each other, the twins grabbed their hands and swung them back and forth, and blinking innocently, they sang, "Best friends forever, silly!"

Everyone in the room laughed. Ron grumbled, "Forget I asked," and fell asleep on his plate of food.

"Want something, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley cheerfully. I sat down next to Hermione and said, "If its not much trouble, thanks."

"Why do we have to be up so early?" said Ginny, rubbing her eyes.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley.

"Walk?" said Harry, looking surprised. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

Mr. Weasley took a large sip from his drink and shook his head, smiling. "No, no, that's miles away. We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup -"

"_George_!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and we all jumped. I ended dropping my piece of bacon on the floor. I eyed it mournfully.

"What?"

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"

Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.

"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding them in the air for anyone to see. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

Then she began to profusely shout, "Accio! Accio! Accio! Accio!" and more of those colored toffees zoomed into sight from all places, including from the lining of George's jacket and under Fred's jeans.

"What are they?" I asked through my lips, not wanting to direct Mrs. Weasley's attention on me.

"Ton-Tongue Toffees," said Ginny grimly. "They make your tongue grow larger. They gave one to Harry's cousin when they picked him up."

"I'm not surprised."

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother when she threw the toffees away.

"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

Our departure was not on friendly terms. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering when she said her goodbyes and when she shouted after the twins' backs, they didn't look back at her.

It was a really chilly morning and the sun still hadn't come out. I walked beside Ginny, my head lolling to the side and keep jerking back. Hermione was no better: she was walking with her eyes closed but for some reason, she still hadn't tripped.

"How does she do that?" Ron hissed from behind.

"Its Hermione," said Harry, and that itself seemed to explain all. He sped to catch up with Mr. Weasley and started talking with him.

Meanwhile, the twins slowed their pace and before I knew, I was being sandwiched between them, having shoved Ginny aside.

"Have we told you Miss Barton," started Fred in his best impersonation of his brother Percy, "You have positively blossomed over this summer."

"Yes, ma'am," said George, smirking. "Absolutely spiffing. Have you yet been hoarded by any youngsters?"

Ginny giggled as I threw my head back and laughed, catching the males by surprise, including Ron and Harry.

"Nothing of the sort, misters," I said pompously. "I'm being held at wand's point though, and according to my roommate, I have to find a dazzling young man before the end of the year."

"Oh no!" George gasped. "What a tragedy!"

"A controversy!"

"Completely absurd!"

"Shut up!" said Ginny, doubling over as she and Hermione laughed. "Don't encourage them, Anya! They'll never shut!"

"Yes, Anya," said George, serious, "Do stop."

"You three are mad," said Ron, shaking his head. "Barking, I'd say!"

Giggling, Hermione asked, "Where are we going?"

Ron shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest."

We trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. I could feel my feet throbbing by both the cold and the long walk. Mr. Weasley checked his watch again.

As we began to climb Stoatshead Hill, I stumbled a lot on the little holes on the ground. I could barely breathe without holding my side.

"Whew," Mr. Weasley panted, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes..."

Hermione arrive clutching her side behind me.

"Now we just need the Portkey," Mr. Weasley panted, putting his glasses on his face. "It won't be big... come on..."

I stuck with Hermione as we spread out to search for the Portkey.

"Over here, Arthur!" a voice called out.

"Amos!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of us followed.

By the time I was wheezing, Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," Mr. Weasley said. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

Then, to my horror, someone dropped from the trees and I shouted.

"Ah! This must be Cedric!" said Mr. Weasley, completely unaware of our reactions.

If handsome boys fell from trees, I would have suggested to Marie to plant a colony on the backyard.

Cedric Diggory was well known at Hogwarts. He was on his seventh year, but I mostly recognized from Quidditch as he was the Hufflepuff's team Captain and Seeker

"Hi," he said. I just waved at him tiredly, and the rest just stared at him, except for Fred and George, who still seemed to not have forgotten the last match in which Cedric beat Harry.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," Mr. Weasley said. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still... not complaining... Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons - and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy..." Mr. Diggory looked at all of us. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Only the redheads," Mr. Weasley said with a smile as he gestured to Hermione, Harry and me. "This is Hermione and Anya, friends of Ron's —and Harry, another friend-"

"Merlin's beard," Mr. Diggory interrupted. "Harry? Harry _Potter_?"

"Er—yeah," Harry said.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," Mr. Diggory said. "Told us all about playing against you last year... I said to him, I said—Ced, that'll be something to tall your grandchildren, that will... _You beat Harry Potter!_"

I snorted a laugh, hiding it with my hand as I faked a cough. Cedric had turned beat red, and he hissed through his teeth, "Harry fell off his broom, Dad. I told you... it was an accident..."

"Yes, but _you_ didn't fall off, did you?" Mr. Diggory yelled, slapping Cedric on the back, making his own son stumble a little. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman... but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

"Must be nearly time," Mr. Weasley said quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Pawcetts couldn't get tickets," Mr. Diggory said. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley said. "Yes, it's a minute off...We'd better get ready..."

He looked around at Harry, Hermione, and I.

"You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do -"

With difficulty, owing to our bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop.

Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to me how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now… ten people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting…

"Three…" muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two… one…"

It happened immediately: I felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. My feet left the ground; I could feel Harry and Cedric on either side of me, their shoulders banging into mine; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; my forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onward and then - my feet slammed into the ground and fell onto my back.

From where I was, I stared upside down as Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric jumped gently on the ground, their hair looking messy by the wind. As for the rest, i could only guess they were also on the ground.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," a voice said.

I dropped my head on the grass, "Ugh."

"Need any help?" a hand was tentatively hanging in front of me, and without thinking it, I grasped it and let myself be hauled. I was suddenly face-to-face with Diggory.

"Thanks," I muttered. He threw me a smile and when he turned, I slapped my cheeks with both hands, noticing how hot they had turned. Catching Hermione's eye, I quickly looked away, feeling more embarrassed, and ran to Harry's side.

"What's wrong?" he said, and I shook my head quickly, not looking at him. I prayed to however listened that he didn't notice my pink tinged cheeks.

Looking around, I saw we had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tried and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Although they tried to dress as Muggles, they looked like a fashion mess. The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-lenght galoshes, and his colleage, a kilt and a poncho. They honestly looked more outdated than a hippie.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; I could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," Basil said wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... We've been here all night... You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite... Weasley... Weasley..." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory... second field... ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist.

After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, I could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon.

We said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. By the way he was correctly wearing his Muggle clothes, I can safely say he really is a Muggle.

When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head to look at us.

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley said brightly.

"Morning," the Muggle said.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would. And who're you?"

"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr. Roberts , consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," Mr. Weasley said.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts .

"Ah - right - certainly -" Mr. Weasley stuttered. He walked a couple of steps off and pulled Harry with him. Few minutes later, he returned and gave the man a few bills.

"You're foreign?" Mr. Roberts asked, glancing down at the money.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley nervously.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…"

"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?"

"It's like some sort of… I dunno… like some sort of rally. They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.

_"Obliviate!"_ he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

To my shock, Mr. Roberts' eyes misted over and for a moment, his hand hung limply but then he shook his head and said, to Mr. Weasley, "A map of the campsite for you," and handed out a piece of parchment along with a couple of coins, "and your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley, unperturbed.

I stared in disbelief as Mr. Roberts walked away and the unknown man began to speak as if this sort of thing was normal.

"Been having a lot of trouble with him. Need a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice not to worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you around, Arthur."

He Disapparated and I scowled.

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," said Ginny, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," said Mr. Weasley , smiling, and led us through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit... well... _lax_ about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic Head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

My momentary anger faded as we trudged up the camp. Each tent was different by style and size, and some of them already showed who they supported, even though it seemed they tried to make it look as 'muggle' as possible but failed miserably at it. I could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts had been suspicious all the time.

Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. I recognized it as the Malfoys' family crest, if the books had been right. Further was another extravagant tent of three floors with turrets, and a little away was one that resembled a small cabin, complete with birdbath, sundial, and a fountain.

"You really know the art of subtlety," I commented, moving aside as a small toy broom flew by.

"Oh, Anya, you haven't seen the rest yet!" said Mr. Weasley cheerfully. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

At the end of the tents, there was an empty spot with a sign that said **WEEZLY**.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr. Weasley said happily, not at all fazed that they couldn't spell his name correctly. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be. Right," Dad said, taking off his backpack, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult... Muggles do it all the time... Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

With also Hermione's and my help, the four of us managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents. I was slightly wondering how would all the us, including the rest of the Weasleys that were yet to arrive, fit in them?

Mr. Weasley held the flap open and hunched over to go inside.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

I waited until everyone entered and I bent down, ducking under the tent's flap, and took a long look at the inside. My mouth opened in disbelief.

I had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.

"Well, it's not for long," Mr. Weasley said, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago — Ron, get out of the kitchen. We're all hungry," Mr. Weasley yelled. I looked over at the kitchen and saw Ron searching on one of the small cabinets.

"Yeah, get out of the kitchen, Ron!" yelled the twins.

"Feet off the table!" Mr. Weasley yelled to the twins.

"Feet off the table!" the twins called back, taking their feet off the table before putting them right back on. I chuckled.

"Just when I think I'm beyond being shocked by this world, something like this happens," I murmured to myself looking around.

"Tell me about it," Harry agreed behind me.

Mr. Weasley picked up a dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water..."

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron once he returned from the kitchen. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, and Anya go and get us some water then" - Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans - "and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"

"But we've got an oven," Ron said. "Why can't we just -"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" Mr. Weasley said, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"

After a quick tour of the girl tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys, though without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.


	4. Valley of the Clovers

**Shout-out to LionsWing! Sweetheart, your comment made me grin all night. And thanks for the correction of Cedric's year at Hogwarts. I'll actually fix that by the next chapter.**

* * *

It just dawned on me that not only Britain was full of wizards, but the rest of the world too. Natasha had said she and my father were Americans but from British heritage, and that had made me believe we sort of were a secret bunch. But as we slowly made our way through the rows, I heard many different voices with accents and even a few unknown languages on the air.

The first ones that seemed to rise were families with children. We passed a pyramid-shaped tent with the symbol of an eye, were a child stood out poking a moving slug with a wand.

His mother ran out of the tent, yelling, "How many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yecchh! "

But then she accidentally stepped on the slug, making it explode, the air filling with smoke.

"You bust slug! You bust slug!" the little boy yelled.

As we walked, we came upon two little girls riding small beginners' brooms, the two of them holding hands as they hovered over the grass, which made Hermione coo at the sight.

There were also Ministry Officers hanging around, snapping at a few wizards to keep control of their kids or scolded them for using magic. I saw a man looking furtively around him before he whispered to himself and his roaster lit up with fire. There others though that apparently gave up quickly, as we soon passed a trio of African wizards staring at a rabbit burning in a stick while rotating from up and down. I had to look away before I threw up or something.

My interest was picked when we passed by two tall, blue tents in form of a castle, with odd symbols on the fabric, which I only could manage to understand a few pentagrams. Hermione didn't seem to have trouble figuring them out: she was happily muttering under her breath as we rounded their space, watching with wide eyes as they changed of color. There was a banner hanging between the tents, with spangled letters that read 'THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE'.

This was the American school of magic my dad could have gone to - or was it only for women? Then if that was the deal, I supposed I could have went there. How life would have turned out then?

I shook my head and followed the trio.

"Hey - is it just my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron hesitantly, rubbing his eyes.

I hummed. "No, it is definitely green."

The Irish weren't scared to show their support for their team. All their tents were so fully covered of shamrocks it wasn't easy to tell them apart from the grass. Barely, I could make out a few grinning faces behind their tent-flaps.

"Harry! Ron! Ann'! Hermione!"

I instantly recognized the atrocious pronunciation of my name.

I turned around, and was faced with Seamus Finnigan and his best friend, Dean Thomas. Both of them were fellow Gryffindors ad in our year, but I knew them better because of the ridiculous bets they were used to make, along with Dean's amazing drawing skills.

"Like the decorations?" Seamus asked, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said the sandy-haired woman behind him - Mrs. Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over _their_ tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing us through squinted eyes. Too afraid of the so called Irish temper, I nodded quickly, _actually_ forgetting I already had my heart set on Ireland.

"Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot," Ron said once we were a safe distance from the Finnigans.

'"Tell me about it," I said.

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling over their tents?" Hermione mused.

"Let's go and have a look," Harry said, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag - white, green, and red - was fluttering in the breeze. The tents had not been filled with leaf clovers but each of them had a poster of the same bloke - a young man with thick eyebrows and a sour look on his face. Although it moved, it only blinked and scowled - which didn't make this lot better than the Irish.

"Krum," said Ron, awe filling his voice as he stared at one of biggest images.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Krum!" Ron repeated, this time more excitedly. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione , looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at us.

" '_Really grumpy_'?" he repeated, his voice rising at the mere thought of his crush being 'really grumpy'. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a _genius_, you wait until tonight, you'll see."

We had to get in line behind a pair of men for the tap of water. They were arguing heatedly, the one who wore Ministry garments holding out a pair of normal trousers to the old man - who wore nothing but a flowery nightgown.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious –

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

_Only women, pal_, I thought merrily.

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

I couldn't hold it: I let out a laugh so hard I had to duck with Hermione, who hadn't stopped giggling since we caught wind of the conversation, and held my ribs as they started to hurt. We only resurfaced when the comical Archie finally used his turn.

"Oh god, I won't look at those the same again!" I told Hermione.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there, we saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of Harry's House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents' tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemore United reserve team.

Next we were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on Cho Chang from Ravenclaw waved at Harry, smiling happily. I puffed out a cheek, rolling my eyes as Harry grinned stupidly and waved back, slopping a lot of water down his front.

"Hey, watch it!" I snapped, and before he could even make more mess, I took the bucket from him, which now was easier to carry because of its weight loss.

Ron was starting to smirk, and so was Hermione. Before either of them could open their mouths, Harry pointed out to a bunch of girls wearing fancy normal dresses.

"Who d'you reckon they are?" he said. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

"'Spect they go to some foreign school," Ron said. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a pen friend at a school in Brazil... this was years and years ago... and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His pen friend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

"Must be the reason why he chose to be a curse breaker, innit?" I said.

"Why don't you ask him?"

I stared in amazement as we passed even more people with different clothing, all of them showing their excitement so publicly it made me smile widely without even thinking it. I caught Harry's eye for a moment, and I could tell he was just as amazed as I was. But then I thought I probably looked quite silly and let my grin fade to a small tight-lipped smile, the so strange feeling of warmth returning to my cheeks.

"You've been ages," said George when we entered our quarters.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You've not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

I stared bemusedly as Mr. Weasley shouted in delight when his match lit up, but then dropped it in surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

The fire lit up eventually, but we had to wait for another hour for it to heat enough to cook anything. The wait wasn't so boring, surprisingly. It looked like the tent had been placed in the most busy patch of field, and Ministry members kept stopping by to say hello to Mr. Weasley and hurried to their posts. To my relief, Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, but none of his children looked interested as Harry, Hermione, and I did.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office... Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now... Hello, Arnie... Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator - member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know... and that's Bode and Croaker... they're Unspeakables..." he whispered.

"They're what?"

"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to -"

I was poking at the eggs in the fire when Percy, and another two redheads, came strolling out of the woods to our way.

"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

Just like if I weren't there, he made a empty plate appear of thin air and served himself. I scowled at him and backed, jumping when I accidentally bumped into one of the newcomers.

"Hello, I don't think we have met," said the stockiest one. "You must be Anya, I'm Charlie. And this is my brother, Bill."

"Nice to meet you two," I said, shaking his and Bill's hand. Had it not been for his good-natured face, Charlie would have looked scary, as his body was full of scars and burns; his brother Bill, was a bit of a surprise: I've heard he was Head Boy at Hogwarts and that sort of put him in the same range as Percy but he actually looked - in short, cool. He was tall, with long red hair tied into a ponytail and also wore a fang earring. His clothes looked like if they had been pulled out of a rock concerts' magazine, except for the boots made of dragon hide.

"Hey Ron!" Bill called to his brother. "I don't see what the fuss was all about. She doesn't look scary, she's way too pretty for that."

I grinned, my tongue peeking between my teeth, and I raised over my toes to look at Ron's expression (even for his short stature, Charlie still was taller than I).

"Aww, Ron" I cooed. "What have you been telling? By the way," I turned to the elder Weasley boys, "whatever he said, all of it is probably true."

"See!" Ron yelled, waggling his finger.

We were halfway through our plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward us.

"Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Besides old Archie, this Ludo Bagman was the most noticeable man in the camp. He wore long quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. They didn't seem to fit him, as they were stretched tightly over his large stomach. His nose was squashed but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. "Arthur, old man, what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming… and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements… Not much for me to do!"

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

"Ah - yes," said Mr. Weasley, grinning, "this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry - and this is Fred - no, George, sorry - that's Fred - Bill, Charlie, Ron - my daughter, Ginny and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Anya Barton."

Like everyone we had met, Bagman did a double take at Harry's name and his eyes flickered towards his forehead, were rested the shaped lightning bolt that had made Harry famous.

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets -"

Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes.

"I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first - I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match."

"Oh… go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see… a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well… any other takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr. Weasley. "Molly wouldn't like -"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins - but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that -" Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said under his breath, "I don't want you betting... That's all your savings... Your mother -"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Ludo Bagman boomed, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to knkow what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chanch, boys, not a chance...I'll give you excellent odds on that one...We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."

Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

"Cheers," George said, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr. Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…"

"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."

"They should have told us that our first year," I said absently.

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside us all. My head snapped up at the name, finding it slightly familiar.

"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman comfortably. My eyes landed on him. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha… memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July."

I somehow doubted this Bertha would appear at all.

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," Bagman said, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!"

The man who just Apparated outside the tent was a huge contrast to Bagman. From all the people we had seen, he had to be the only one that really looked like a Muggle. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man with an impeccable crisp suit and tie. His short hair was parted neatly on the side, hardly any hair was out of place, even his narrow mustache looked neatly trimmed. I glanced down momentarily and was not surprised to find that his black shoes were polished.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Ludo said brightly, patting the ground beside him.

"No thank you, Ludo," Crouch said, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh is _that_ what they're after?" Bagman said. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" Percy said breathlessly, sinking into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh," Crouch said, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes - thank you, Weatherby."

I certainly had to look elsewhere before I could end up ridiculing myself like Percy by laughing.

"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," said Mr. Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh.

"I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," said Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. "He's desperate to export here."

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" said Bagman.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Mr. Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve - but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman breezily.

"Fairly," said Mr. Crouch dryly. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" Mr. Weasley said.

Ludo Bagman looked shocked.

"Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun... still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?"

Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman.

'We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details -"

"Oh details!" Bagman said, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts -"

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," Mr. Crouch said sharply, cutting whatever Bagman was going to say. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.

"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me - I'm commentating!" He waved. Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred said at once. "What were they talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. The usual annoyance I felt when something was being hidden from me didn't show up: Mr. Weasley's enthusiasm actually made me look forward to whatever was going to happen at Hogwarts.

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy stiffly. "My. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."

"Oh shut up, Weatherby," said Fred mockingly.


	5. Bulgaria vs Ireland

I was buzzing with excitement as the afternoon wore on. Magic was already making its appearance, and this time, those Ministry Officers gave up in trying to cover it.

Salesmen Apparated from every corner, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Harry as we strolled through the small businesses, looking what to buy. Ron already had gotten himself a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, and just recently, he purchased a small figurine of Viktor Krum, who i found out was the Bulgarian seeker. The little doll walked back and forth over Ron's hand, scowling to the skies.

Jumping from cart to cart, I eagerly dragged Hermione with me, pointing at a few things and also listening as she explained what they were, having already seen them in books. In the end, I bought long green scar with dancing shamrocks, a pair of large green rosettes for Neville, and two flags, each one of either team.

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, running over a cart full of shiny brassy binoculars which were full of knobs and odd misplaced dials.

"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action... slow everything down... and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each."

I mentally counted my money, and was satisfied with the amount left. I itched to buy one of those Omnioculars but I didn't want to waste my money.

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, glaring at his hat halfheartedly.

"Four pairs," Harry said firmly, offering a load of coins. I nearly fell from surprise.

"Harry," I hissed, tugging at his sleeve.

"No - don't bother," said Ron, going red.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programs, look -"

As Hermione fussed, Harry looked at me expectantly. I shook my head, taking my pair with a huff from his hands. "One of these days, wonder boy," I muttered, and he grinned.

We returned back to our tents, the rest of them already waiting for the announcement to come. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny wore all green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Only Fred and George didn't have souvenirs but they had painted their faces with green, one of them having the Irish flag on each cheek, the other having a big clover in the middle of his face.

And then, a booming gong went off from the woods, and instantly, green and red lanterns lit up from the tress, lighting up a path to where the stadium was.

"It's time!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "Come on, let's go!"

I made sure to tie my scarf into a knot around my neck and set off behind the others, hurrying down the path through the woods, barely making people out from the red and green lights. There were shouts of laughter, and off-key singing, but no one seemed to take notice of that: the excitement was too high to even care. The Weasleys kept telling each one a joke, all of them laughing even if I didn't find the fun in them, but at last, we finally found ourselves under the shadow of a gigantic building, shining in the dark as if it were made of gold. It was almost the size of Hogwarts' grounds, and I could bet that the Orphanage would have fit in a hundred times at least.

"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr. Weasley commented. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again…" he shook his head fondly, "bless them." He led us to the nearest entrance, already swarming with shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the witch in the booth as she checked the tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs were surprisingly carpeted in rich purple and there were doors on each row of stands but my lot kept going upward, until we were at the top of the staircase, so high that the wind could easily blow us away. I held my scar and my hair tightly, waiting for them to move, and let out a relieved sigh when I stepped inside the room. Actually, it was a box with twenty purple and gold chairs in two rows, placed halfway between the golden goal posts.

The view outside was both beautifully amazing and breathtaking at once. As people took their seats around the oval field, they were engulfed in a golden light the stadium itself seemed to be giving off. The field looked like it had been painted in green, as its smoothness made it look good as new. At either end of the field, stood three goal hoops, and opposite the box, was an enormous blackboard, short messages drawn in golden chalk appearing in and out of sight. I looked over my shoulder, my eyes travelling from person to person: they all looked pompous like Percy - who apparently was setting a new record in shaking hands today, as he eagerly approached officer by officer. Bill and Charlie kept sniggering and pointing at his back -

"Dobby?"

My head snapped to the side. Harry was watching a small house elf that had taken a seat on a chair. It had a towel draped over its body like a toga and it was grabbing its bat-like ears to cover its eyes. My heart went out to the creature, but there was nothing I could do. Either its master had ordered the house-elf to save his seat or its was being punished mercilessly by staying here.

The elf lift her ears tentatively and stared at Harry with huge brown eyes.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" it said, its voice sounding far too squeaky to be a male.

"Sorry," Harry apologized, "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" squeaked the elf.

She was holding her hand hands to either side of her face, only being able to see whatever she stared directly at. "My name is Winky, sir - and you sir - you is surely Harry Potter!" she exclaimed, her eyes resting on Harry's visible scar. It had fortunately stopped looking raw.

She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir -" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is surely Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry slowly.

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

I stared bemusedly as she spoke of Dobby like if he had suffered a horrible fate.

"Why not?"

"He is wanting paying for his work, sir," she whispered.

"Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid?" I winced at the horrified look that crossed Winky's face.

"House-elves is not paid, sir! No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter. House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter, but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. I imitated her and narrowed my eyes. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf." It was frighteningly disturbing to notice how she talked like if she was telling this to someone else, as if Winky was looking for approbation from the thin air.

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered when Winky hid behind her hands again. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started to play with the knobs, staring out at the field.

"Wild!" he breathed, turning the knob on the right. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again... and again... and again..."

I scrunched my nose and leaned over to lower his hands. "Stop it. That's disgusting, Ronald."

Hermione was busy reading her velvety program.

"'A display from the team mascots will precede the match'," she read aloud.

"Oh that's always worth watching," said Mr. Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

For the next half hour, people kept coming in to fill their places. Many wizards offered their greeting to Mr. Weasley, and Percy still didn't stop shaking hands. However, when the Minister himself arrived, he bowed so low his glasses just fell off from his nose. He stopped moving and finally took a seat, remaining them for the rest of the time, and threw a few dirty looks at Harry when Fudge greeted him like an old friend.

"Harry Potter, you know," he told the wizard on his left loudly, who was wearing robes of black velvet trimmed with gold. The man didn't look like he could speak English.

"Harry Potter?" said the Minister again. "Oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you do know who he is -" the wizard noticed Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly, waggling his finger at it.

Bored, I glanced out at the field again, fingering the program on my lap absently, and playing with the Omnioculars for a bit.

I perked up though, when Fudge said, "Ah, and here is Lucius!"

I turned, and saw that behind Mr. Weasley, they were three empty seats left, and none other than the Malfoys were shuffling toward them. There was Lucius, and his son, Draco, and a woman who I guessed was his mother. Contrary to her blond husband and son, Mrs. Malfoy actually had straight, dark brown hair, except for two long strands of hair, which were actually a platinum blond. She was really good-looking, but the sneer on her face sort of ruined her natural beauty.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

Both men sized each other with frowns on their faces, Malfoy Sr. looking past Mr. Weasley and over at us.

"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How - how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Nice, my arse. Malfoy's eyes swept over us again and he settled on staring at Hermione, a sneer appearing on his face. It wasn't a surprise, as people like him actually thought themselves superiors to Muggleborns.

"Aren't you going to take a seat, sir?" I said, my lip curling up. Malfoy's gaze then went at me but I stared back defiantly - or better said, indifferent. People like him, I knew they should remember what their place was, because some day, Malfoy will fall down from his high horse and his son's delusions of grandeur will cease.

Both Malfoy males looked like they wanted to say something but it was Mrs. Malfoy's hand on her husband's shoulder that reminded him of where he was. He nodded sneeringly at me, and set off, not before his son shot us a contemptuous look. When Mrs. Malfoy passed though, she nodded at me in greeting. Surprised, I tilted my head and nodded too, my body no forgetting its manners.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered.

Ludo Bagman then ran inside the box, his face gleaming in excitement.

"Everyone ready? Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said, "_Sonorus_!", and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over us, booming into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The stadium exploded into cheers, and many of the spectators started to sing their own anthems in a very off-key tone. The blackboard opposite us erased itself and new words appeared with a spark, making it now a scoreboard.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

From my point of view, the rights scarlet side of the stands roared its cheers.

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley before his eyes widened, and then he was leaning forward eagerly and puled off his glasses to polish them with the hem of his shirt. "Veela!" he said excitedly.

"What are veel -"

But then a group of at least a hundred women entered the field and Harry's question died on his lips. I couldn't honestly blame him as they were really beautiful, probably the most beautiful women I'd ever seen in my life. Their white-golden hair fanned out behind them and their ivory skin seemed to glisten in the moonlight. I watched, a bit dazzled, when they started dancing just as if they were floating in their places and spun.

From either side of me, I heard Ron and Harry take deep breaths and it suddenly clicked. Of course, Veelas used their beauty to lure their prey - in this case, men.

Then the Veela started to dance faster and faster, their silvery clothes looking as if they were only a whisper of the wind. I blinked, closing my eyes for a moment and reached to rub my temples, the sharp mild headache fading in seconds. Next I was aware, Hermione was yelling, "Harry, what _are_ you doing?" and I opened my eyes. Without even thinking it thoroughly, I jumped to my feet and wrapped an arm around Harry's torso and placed my feet firmly on the ground, holding him as he struggled.

I was relieved when the music finally stopped. I felt as Harry's body relaxed from his earlier tense posture and he shook his head, the long tresses of hair hitting me on the face.

"You nutty boy, what do you think you're doing?" I said, half-laughing, half-scolding him. I slowly let my arm fall from his upper body and tugged at the back of his shirt to pull him back on his seat.

Once the boys jerked fully back to reality, I turned to stare at the rest of the stadium, wincing at the loud angry jeers that came from the crowd. They obviously didn't want the Veela to go.

"You'll be wanting that," said Mr. Weasley as he caught sight of Ron shredding the shamrocks on his hat, "once Ireland have had their say."

At Ron's vacant expression, Hermione made a tutting sound and crossed her arms, huffing. "Honestly!" she said.

"And now," Ludo Bagman's voice roared, "kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

In that moment, what looked like a green and gold comet zoomed into the stadium, flying around the field and split into two smaller ones, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow suddenly appeared and stretched to each side of the field, connecting the two comets. The crowd oooohed and aaaahed like if they were watching a fireworls' show. The rainbow eventually faded and the balls of light united and merged, forming a big shamrock on the sky and it rose. From it fell what looked like a shower of gold.

"Excellent!" Ron yelled as the shamrock soared over us, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off our heads and seats. Squinting up at the enormous clover leaf in the sky, I realized that it was actually made by thousands of little men with red vests, each of them carrying either gold or green lamps.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr. Weasley.

I threw my hand out and caught a few coins. Curious, I nibbled one. Instantly, a disgusting coppery flavor filled my mouth and I coughed, spitting out the golden dust on my sleeve. With the other, I wiped at my tongue roughly.

Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed. Ron was giving Harry a large amount of coins from his hat and Hermione seemed to be examining one with her fingers. I oped she didn't try to bit it too.

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaand - _Krum_!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. I quickly focused my own.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the field.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a large hairy mustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other.

I spun the speed dial on my Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (I saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!"


	6. The Barmy One

**Oh god, I just saw this - this post in tumblr about recasting the whole HP characters, and it completely ruined my view of them! I can't imagine them any other way. If you wish to see them, I posted the link in my account.**

**Shout out to AmyRoxx123.**

* * *

"_Don't_ tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley told Fred and George as we made our way down the steps of the Top Box.

"Don't worry, Dad, we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated," said Fred gleefully.

Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what did he mean, but wisely decided to not know.

In the end, Ireland had won by ten points, with Viktor Krum having finished the game on his "own terms" as Harry put it. The crowd couldn't stop singing their happiness as we made our way out of the stadium, and the leprechauns had again risen to the skies, dancing merrily as they waved their lanterns. When we arrived to the tents, no one seemed tired enough to go and sleep and Mr. Weasley allowed us to at least have a cup of cocoa, saying that we would tire when the exhilaration wore off.

The twins were dancing around the tent in crouched positions, singing what sounded like an Irish song. Loyally, Ron jumped on the small table in front of me and started to murmur, chanting Viktor Krum's name as if it were sacred.

"There's no one like Krum," he said, lowly.

Having caught the solemn tone of their brother, the twins merely continued moving, this time saying, "Dumb Krum!"

"He's like a bird, the way he rides the wind," Ron continued. "He's more than an athlete… he's an artist!"

My eyebrows raised involuntary. "I think you're in love , Ron," I said, smirking slightly.

He gaped. "Shut up!" he said, glaring.

Unfortunately for him, I had encouraged Fred and George further with their teasing.

"Viktor, I love you!" said George, joined by Fred who hugged him and said, cheekily, "Viktor, I do!"

Then Bill joined them, taking me by surprise as he hauled me to my feet and make me whirl on the spot.

"_When we're apart my heart beats only for you_!" he sang, and I burst out laughing.

They continued doing the same for another hour until Ginny suddenly spilled her chocolate all over the table and Mr. Weasley, who had been speaking with Charlie, insisted for us to go to bed.

Hermione, Ginny, and I, were the only ones that left. I changed my clothes for an old yellow t-shirt and a pair of gray cotton pajamas, and I climbed to my bunk. Uncertain, I decided to place a pair of boots I had taken with me at the bottom of the bed. When my head fell on the single pillow, my eyes instinctively closed, and soon, I was swimming in the darkness.

* * *

For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. The so familiar screams of fear were a constant occurrence in my nightmares, and so accustomed to them, I didn't realize that something was wrong. But I began to suspect when, one, I was running through the dark misty forest, and two, I couldn't hear the mad cackling of my father's murderer.

And suddenly, almost imperceptibly, the smell of smoke reached my nostrils.

My eyes instantly snapped open and I jumped to my feet. I still couldn't see clearly, but blindly, I groped for my boots and put them on.

"Hermione!" I shouted. "Ginny! Wake up!"

Shadows danced from outside the tent, people were running in panic, and then there was a loud explosion.

Hermione, who had gotten up groggily, jumped from her bed, realizing the danger we were in. I ran at Ginny's bed and hauled her to her feet, ignoring her protests.

"Girls!" it was Mr. Weasley. He too, was wearing a pair of red pinstriped pajamas but had pulled on a pair of jeans over them. "We need to leave! There's no time to change clothes!"

He made that we came out first, lingering briefly on the tent before he was running after us.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, I could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward us, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward us; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

When I finally caught sight of them, I froze, and wide eyed, I let Mr. Weasley grab my arm and led me to the others.

The group of wizards walked steadily through the chaos, fire dancing at their feet, their black cloaks billowing behind them. Although hoods concealed their faces, I caught a glimpse of what they hid.

And I saw masks. Masks that looked all too much like skulls, made of steel. They were pointing their wands straight upward, and high above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes.

I screeched to a halt, stopping beside Harry, who was watching with the same dismay I felt.

More wizards joined the group, laughing and pointing at the figures above them, one of the cloaked men blasting a tent on his way. One of the newcomers made one of the figures float upside down. With a pang of horror, I saw that one of the floating persons was Mr. Roberts, the man from before, and the rest were probably his wife and children. The woman, who looked like she couldn't breathe from her position, was trying to cover her undergarments, and the crowd hooted and catcalled in glee.

"That's sick," said Ron in disbelief, watching as the smallest Muggle child spun from sixty feet above the ground, his head lolling from side to side. "That is really sick…"

"This can't be happening," I whispered. Before I thought it, I started to run at them, but I was stopped from behind.

"No -" I struggled, "We have to help them!" I yelled, trying to pry off the pair of arms around my mid-section. The scars on the forearms confirmed him to be Charlie.

"We will!" said Bill, and he, along with Percy, sprinted at them.

"Don't move!" Charlie barked and followed after his brothers.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his sleeves. "You lot - get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

"C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood as Mr. Weasley disappeared. The rest of us followed him and the youngest Weasley, trying to stick close. But when we reached the trees, I looked back. The group of cloaked men beneath the Roberts family had increased, and Ministry wizards tried to get through the noisy crowd, but they didn't seem to make any progress.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium sparkled and died, leaving us in complete darkness. With the moonlight, I could barely see the figures blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around us in the cold night air.

I felt myself being pushed from either side, and I pushed back with whatever strength I could muster, but I was suddenly slammed by someone, and the tight hold I had on Hermione's hand loosened and I fell to my knees with a cry. The wind was knocked out of me. Panting, I tried tostand, but more people were pushing and I was again sprawled on the ground.

I could hear Hermione yelling for my name, I could barely see the guys fighting to get back but the crowd was pushing them away, away from where I was. I curled myself on a ball and closed my eyes, waiting for the blows to stop.

It was a while, but when I heard nothing but the vague laughter from the Death Eaters, I looked up.

"Oh dear Lord," I whispered and stood up shakily whilst leaning on my hands. The entire camp had been burned to the ground, only a few tents barely managed to survive. There were a lot of fires yet to be quenched, and as I walked through the wreckage, I realized the place was abandoned. Not a single soul could be heard.

I breathed harshly, holding my bruised ribs with my arm, the other pulling out my wand from inside my boot. I kept walking, keeping an eye over my shoulder.

A few moments later I noticed I was completely lost. I didn't recognize any of the tents around me, and I certainly couldn't recognize which ones were ours as they all were the same color. Groaning, I moved on as if I knew where I was going, trying to not panic.

It wasn't working.

I cursed myself for not thinking of my wristwatch, which had been left back on the tent inside my backpack. I could've helped me now.

Then, I heard something - footsteps. I stilled, taking a few steps back and slowly moved behind one tent, which had miraculously survived through the whole ordeal.

To my surprise, it was a man singing very off-key, swaying, and for a moment I thought he was drunk. But then he stopped, his back facing me and tilted his head.

I took a step back - crack!

I gasped and looked down, stepping away from the broken branch. I raised my head and was met with a pair of piercing brown, hateful eyes.

"I found you," he said quietly. I immediately turned and fled.

Running whilst being hurt wasn't one of my brightest plans. It was either getting more hurt and bruised or getting killed by this loony with a leather fetish. Yes, even though I'm about to be killed, I did notice the leather coat and leather trousers he wore.

My foot connected with a wooden box and I fell. I quickly straightened and raised to my feet.

An arm sneaked around my waist and a hand covered my mouth. I began to squirm on my captor's hold, scratching at the arm and I tried to step on his foot. He was smarter than that and shifted, managing to avoid each stomp with swift movements. He shook my body roughly, catching me off guard.

"Stop moving!" he growled. I stopped dead, and let him drag me away. His voice sounded quite young to be the man I had seen and when we were kneeling behind a tent, looking over at the large empty space I had fallen, I took a good look on him, and was stunned to see he was my age.

Tall as Ron, the bloke could easily be confused with a twenty-year old man - who looked young. His hair was completely black, cut behind the ears but messily stood up at the ends, reminding me of a porcupine. His face was round and boyish, and he had a button nose.

The man from before ran into the clearing, turning into the spot with his wand pointing at everything. When he didn't see me, he let out a shout and ran to the opposite way from us.

We waited a few minutes before we both let out relieved sighs. He turned to look at me and I was caught off ward by his eyes. They were an astounding shiny silver.

"You alright?" he asked.

I nodded, shakily.

"Good," he said, nodding, and stood up. Without a word, he started to walk away.

"Hey!" I said and quickly caught up with him. "Where are you going?"

"With my classmates."

"You know where they are?"

"No."

"Do you know where you are going?"

"No."

I sighed, frustrated. "Do you even know where exactly we are now?"

He stopped short and turned to look around. "Ah, 'm not sure."

"Well, isn't that swell," I deadpanned.

He scoffed. "You could at least be a bit grateful, after all, I saved your life."

"I'm not some damsel in distress," I hissed. "I can perfectly take care of myself."

A flash of green light shot from the forest and up to the sky, exploding in the air and a colossal skull appeared, looking as if it was composed of emerald stars, with a serpent protruding out of its mouth.

The stranger gasped. "The Dark Mark." My eyes widened at his remark. Although I hadn't seen any pictures of it, I knew what the dark mark was meaning to represent.

"What was your name, again?"

I shot him a withering glare. "Its Anya! And I never told you!"

"Well, Anya," said the stranger nervously, ignoring my jest and backed a few steps. "I propose we do some vigorous running!"

There was a loud bang, and I too, backed along with him. "I reckon you're right," I gasped, and both of us turned away at the same time to run.

"So!" he panted. "What is a girl like you doing in the woods alone?"

"Is it really the right time to ask?!" I shouted, peering at him from the corner of my eye.

"I thought that it would be a little impolite not to ask!" he said, his arms moving from side to side.

"We're about to be attacked and probably murdered!"

He grinned, jogging ahead and turned to shot me a grin. "Isn't that exciting?!"

"No, it isn't! Are you barking mad or what?!"

"Probably!"

We eventually came to a stop and slowed down, panting. The boy doubled over in fatigue and leaned his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. I was in no better state: wheezing, I held my arm around my stomach and winced, remembering that by now, bruises must have started to appear.

"Who are you?" I wheezed.

He got himself together and straightened. The boy offered me his hand with a silly smile.

"'M James."

Frowning, I hesitantly took it, squeezing it tightly. He didn't even wince.

"Right then James," I puffed out a cheek. "Are you always this suicidal?"

"Not on Mondays, no. Just a bit when its Sunday though: nothing ever happens on a sunny Sunday."

I shook my head and didn't bother to conceal my snort.

"Lets just forget I even asked," I said, waving my hand. He chuckled and carried on in silence. Oddly enough, I didn't feel uncomfortable with him

"The cloaked men," I started. "Were those Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

"Was it the man from before one of them?"

"The one with the leather fetish?" asked James. "Probably. He was in the camp, alone - it could have been him who conjured the Dark Mark. Or maybe he was only a nutty."

"You certainly don't beat around the bush," I said to myself, shaking my head. "I got separated from my friends, what 'bout you?"

He smiled. "Same. I came here with my school, but with all the ruckus going on, we all went in different ways. I was looking out for them but I saw you," he sighed and stretched out his arms, "and the rest, you already know!"

I eyed him. "You're weird."

"So I've been told. And you're kind of blunt. Scary and bossy too."

I chuckled. "This is actually the first time someone has told me anything more than scary."

My ears suddenly perked and I threw out my arm, stopping him.

"Someone is coming," I said quietly. Without a word, James took my hand and pulled me behind one of the trees. Curious, I held onto the trunk and craned up my neck to see around the tree. James did the same on the other side.

A thin shape walked over the wreckage without a care in the world. My hands tightened on the bark, the knuckles turning white. I gritted my teeth as Malfoy swaggered past us with a smirk on his face.

"Asshole," said James once the peroxide blond was out of sight.

"His father must have been involved in the riot," I muttered hotly.

"I wouldn't be surprised," said James, shooting his eyes upward. "Last time, dear old Lucius Malfoy didn't end up in Azkaban by claiming he was under the Imperius Curse."

Soon enough, we reached the edge of the woods and saw a large crowd of wizards looking ill-frightened, whispering among each other. Thankfully they ignored us and we walked back into the campsite. Mr. Weasley's borrowed tents had miraculously survived through the fire unlike the ones around it, some of them still smoking.

"I think this is where I leave you," said James.

"Yeah," I nodded. "It was nice to meet you, James."

"No, it wasn't," he said, smirking.

I shook my head. "No, it really wasn't. Hope to meet you when you're less..." I wiggled my finger at his head.

"Barmy?" he offered. At my nod, he chuckled. "I doubt it. See ya, then."

He looked at my face and I shivered, the intensity of his silver eyes making goosebumps appear on my skin. James lingered there for a moment but turned around abruptly, disappearing through the mess of tents.

Biting my cheek, I stared after him. His odd and yet, helpful appearance, was fishy. Not to mention he was bordering on psychopath. But James didn't ring any bells of danger inside my head, not at all. It seemed only my paranoia was getting the best out of me again.

I shook my head and turned to head into the tent. Poking my head inside, I said to the expectant audience full of Weasleys, "Did I miss something?"

I was harassed with questions, and as I spoke of my tale, I didn't tell them about the man in leather nor about the strange boy that had rescued me from him.

* * *

**R&R please!**


	7. De Kretser Syndrome

**So! You've met the mysterious James! Please tell me what you think about him and if you want to, how all of you picture him as - I mean, which actor you think suits him more. Also, the poll about Marie's sorting is drawing to a close: just one more chapter (probably the next one) and we will see where she ends. If you haven't voted yet, do it now.**

**Shout-out to LionsWing, AmyRoxx123, and xenocanaan!**

**R & R please.**

* * *

"Are you sure you are alright?" Hermione whispered as we made our way through the campsite.

"I'm sore, if that's what you're asking," I said, side-stepping a burnt flag of the Bulgarian team.

Hermione grabbed my arm, hissing, "You know that's not what I meant. Are you alright?" she repeated slowly, making sure to emphasize the last word.

I looked away from her calculating eyes, and instead slowed down as we passed by a small cottage. In front of the door, Mr. Roberts was sweeping the grass, holding the broom upside down. When he met my eyes, I winced, noticing how dazed and confused he looked.

"Merry Christmas!" he called, waving his hand. His head lolled to the side.

"No," I mumbled through gritted teeth. "Of course 'm not right."

"He'll be all right," said Mr. Weasley quietly when he saw where I was staring at. The rest had done the same. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while… and that was a big thing they had to make him forget." I abruptly looked away, staring pointedly at my feet as we marched onto the moor.

Basil, the man who was in charge of the portkeys, was being harassed by many wizards who wanted nothing but to get away from here. Mr. Weasley made it to the front and hurriedly spoke to Basil, who nodded several times and handed him an old rubber tire. As Mr. Weasley ran toward us, we formed a circle and waited for him to catch up. By the time he arrived, we already had put our hands together and he quickly threw in the portkey. As the last time, I was jerked forward, and all of us were spinning around, yelling at the speed of it. When we landed, this time all of us were standing in wobbly knees.

We walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, barely talking because of exhaustion and our rumbling stomachs. As we rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, I caught sight of a tiny blue blur hurrying out the garden.

"Anya!"

The blur collided with me and with a loud "Oof!", I fell down on my rear.

"Marie," I breathed, and hugged her back, closing my eyes tightly and passing my hands through her mane of black hair.

"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!" I heard Mrs. Weasley shout. When I looked up, I saw she was still wearing a bathrobe and a pair of slippers, her pale face in tears, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

"Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried-"

Mrs. Weasley flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the _Daily Prophet_ fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Gently pushing Marie away, I looked down at the headline.

_SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP. _There was a black-and-white photo of the Dark Mark over the treetops.

"How did you get here?" I asked Marie. I pretended to not notice when she subtly reached to wipe at her eyes with her sleeve.

Sniffing, Marie reached inside the pocket of her pink hoodie and pulled out a familiar brown bag.

"You stole the floo powder from Natasha?" I hissed.

"No! I borrowed it!"

Scoffing, I swung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. "You sneaky girl. You'll probably end up in Slytherin. Mind you, if you do, I'll disown you."

"You won't," she sniggered.

I sighed. "No, I won't."

"Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -"

I looked over and snorted, smiling as Mrs. Weasley squeezed the life out of the twins.

"I shouted at you before you left!" she sobbed. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.L.s? Oh Fred... George..."

"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," Mr. Weasley said soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says..."

When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. _"Ministry blunders...culprits not apprehended...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace_...Who wrote this? Ah...of course...Rita Skeeter."

"That explains it all," Marie whispered. "She's usually a cow when she writes."

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't_specifically_ stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans -"

"Do us a favor, Perce," Bill said, yawning, "and shut up."

We all nodded in agreement.

"I'm mentioned," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.

"Where?" spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"

"She was too busy crying," Marie said from the corner of her mouth.

I stared at her in surprise. Marie usually didn't speak much in public, it seemed to bother her when Mrs. Darcy made her greet the rich snobs that came to the Orphanage. But now she was talking, her hands kept twisting on her lap - and she also hadn't separated from my side. Guilty, I pecked her on the forehead, ignoring the surprised looks I earned from my friends, except Harry, who already knew I had a soft spot for Marie.

"Not by name. Listen to this: _'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.'_ Oh really," Mr. Weasley said in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody _was_ hurt. What was I supposed to say? _Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods_...well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that."

He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."

"I'll come with you, father," Percy said importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person." And bustled out of the kitched.

Mrs. Weasley, upset, said, "Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"

"I've got to go, Molly. I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off..."

Mr. Weasley scurried off.

"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry suddenly, "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?" I looked at him curiously.

"Hedwig, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. "No… no, there hasn't been any post at all."

"All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?" said Harry with a meaningful look.

"Yeah… think I will too," said Ron at once. "Hermione?"

"Of course!" she looked over at me.

I gently pried Marie off my side and grabbed her shoulders. "Marie, why don't you stay with Mrs. Weasley while I help these buttheads?"

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed.

Marie narrowed her eyes but then sighed loudly and whirled, marching stiffly to where Mrs. Weasley was sitting.

"Come on," I muttered, and the four of us walked out of the kitchen and upstairs.

"What's up, Harry?" Ron asked, the moment we had closed the door of the attic room behind us.

"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."

I leaned my back on the door, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the knowing look Harry sent me as Hermione began to list from books to look at, and people who could know what it meant.

"But - he wasn't there, was he?" said Ron, pulling himself out of of his shock. "You-Know-Who? I mean - last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"

I pursued my lips and closed my eyes.

"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," said Harry. "But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill… someone."

He was trying to be nonchalant about it, I knew.

"It was only a dream," Ron said bracingly. "Just a nightmare."

"Yeah, but was it, though?" Harry said, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it…? My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."

"Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth. I rolled my eyes at him.

"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. "At the end of last year?"

Professor Trelawney was our Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort.

"Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"

"You weren't there," Harry said. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again… greater and more terrible than ever before… and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him… and that night Wormtail escaped."

I sighed and looked around the orangey room, counting the many posters Ron had glued on the walls.

"You knew, didn't you?" said Hermione with a gasp. It took me a moment to realize she was speaking to me.

"Oh... yes."

"Why didn't you say so?" she half-shrieked.

I shared a grimace with Harry. "Yeah, we haven't told you the best part of this. I - um, I dreamed the same thing as him...?"

There was silence. Then -

"And you two weren't going to tell us because," Hermione prompted.

"Ah, we're not sure if it really happened," said Harry. "I mean, it could have been a coincidence."

"Yes, Harry. A very big coincidence in which I dreamed of Voldemort planning to kill 'someone'," I said sarcastically, making sure to quote it in the air with my fingers.

"Can you explain how it happened then?" Harry snapped. "Because I'm pretty sure this has never even happened before!"

"Actually," Ron cut in, glancing at us. "I've heard of it from Dad. Its strange but not unheard. Ever read about the war with Grindelwald?"

"World War II," said Hermione, nodding. "It was said Gellert Grindelwald had joined forces with Adolf Hitler, who was registered as a squib."

Ron oogled at her and then shook his head. "Yeah, well, during the London Blitz, I think, some wizards found themselves psychically linked after a bomb hit nearby. They sort of got visions of each other - dad said it drove them mad and the link had to be forcefully broken... one of them died."

"The De Kretser syndrome," said Hermione. "Why didn't I think of that?" she asked herself in disbelief.

"Always the tone of surprise," said Ron grumpily.

Harry cleared his throat. "And this happened because of -"

"Stress, anxiety, you name it," Ron shrugged. "That lot was going barmy."

I slapped my thighs, jumping away from the door. "Isn't that swell? Either Harry and I die or we just get loopy."

Hermione frowned. She was tapping her fingers against her arm.

"But this isn't the first time is has happened," she muttered. "The first time was when you, Harry, confronted Professor Quirrell."

"Really?" said Harry, shooting me a quick glance. I shrugged.

"I kind of forgot."

"You said that whatever Harry was going to face down the chamber was worse than anything," said Hermione. "And you two saw You-Know-Who."

"Yah, I remember."

"Something must have triggered it," said Harry with sudden understanding. "Something _before_ we even met."

"But what?" asked Ron.

I puffed out a cheek and let out a puff of air. The question lingered on the air, and we all wondered. I had an idea, but I didn't voice it aloud. For starters, it probably had happened when we were toddlers... when our parents were still alive, before Voldemort even decided to kill his.

No, I certainly wasn't going to talk about it, not even remotely mention this again. We had enough in our plates and for this to suddenly appear, it was just too much for the three of us. More garbage to carry with me.

"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" said Hermione at last. "Are you expecting a letter?"

"I told Sirius about my scar," said Harry, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."

"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"

"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.

"But we don't know where Sirius is… he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably.

"Venice, actually," I said. They looked over at me. "He always sends a clue to where he is. If I'm not wrong, he was heading to Spain."

"See, Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days," Hermione sighed.

"Yeah, I know," Harry mumbled looking over the window.

"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry," said Ron. "Come on - three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play… You can try out the Wronski Feint… "

"Ron," said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now… He's worried, and he's tired… We all need to go to bed…"

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."

Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like, "Boys."

But when we went downstairs, I was stopped by Harry, who grabbed my wrist and told Hermione to go on. With annoying glint on her eye, she agreed and went to sit next to Marie, who looked nearly to burst out of the Burrow. Harry sat on the bottom of the stairs, and with a wiggle of his eyebrows, I sighed and sat next to him. Our knees were touching, just like that time in my secret spot when he told me about the Marauders' map, though this time, I couldn't help but shift uncomfortable.

"What really happened in the camp, Anya?" he asked softly, clasping his hands.

"Not you too," I groaned. "Nothing, nothing happened. I got separated from you lot, got a lot of bruises, was sort of lost, and then I found you. Nothing more, nothing less. Clear?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, looking amused. Irritated, I started to get up but he stopped me with a wave of his hand.

"If I told you I have something to make the bruising fade, will you let me help you?"

It was _my_ turn to raise my eyebrows. "And let you see me in my knickers?" He flushed. "I don't think so, wonder boy, but thanks for the offer. You know, you're getting cheesier every year that passes."

"I didn't know that worrying fell into that category."

"With the way you do?" I scoffed. "Of course it does."

I let out a loud squeak when a familiar voice spoke into my ear.

"Will you two stop flirting?" said Marie, holding on the stairs' railing. "Its getting boring."

Hermione, who I didn't notice was behind her too, hissed her name.

"We weren't -" Harry started to babble.

"Yeah, yeah, it doesn't matter," said Marie dismissively. "Ms. Rosenberg is here already though."

I jumped to my feet, all embarrassment forgotten. "What?!"

Indeed, when I entered the kitchen, I saw the familiar scarlet-colored hair of Natasha Rosenberg. She was talking quietly with Mrs. Weasley, who looked much better than before. They quieted down when they saw me standing in the doorway.

"Hey," said Natasha, standing up and greeting me with a hug. I stiffly patted her on the back. "You alright?" she asked, stepping back and taking hold of my face. Her fingernails, I noticed, had been painted purple, and her hands were warm.

I felt my eye twitch slightly as her eyes roamed all over me. Not only Hermione and Harry, but her, had noticed that this affected me more than I let on. Annoyed, I took her wrists and moved them away. She left them fall limply at her sides.

"Yeah," I muttered, ignoring the disappointed expression on her face.

"Thanks for the tea, Molly," said Natasha. "But I'm afraid we will have to leave."

"Oh dear, it was no trouble. I do hope we see each other soon."

"Oh?" Natasha smirked. "I think I will. And do remember, maroon clashes with red."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I turned to look at the others. They too, looked like they didn't understood.

"Bye guys," I said, waving, and we walked out of the house.

When we were ten meters away, Natasha said, a little bit rushed, "Grab my hands tightly."

Marie and I did as told and soon, the world was spinning and turning into blurs, with us being sucked into a tube. My feet slammed into solid ground and I swayed, but quickly held myself upright.

However, when I looked up I didn't recognize the place. There were no gates nor the opaque sign of the orphanage. Instead, we were standing at the top of a hill, the wind making my hair flew behind me. At the bottom of the hill, rested a two-story house, almost the size of a manor. It was painted in yellow and had a lot of square windows, the most prominent one being the one on top. Farther from it, was a tall willow tree with a swing attached to the largest branch. The leaves were turning yellow-ish.

"Where are we?" said Marie, also looking confused. She pulled her bangs out of her face.

For the first time in many years since I had known her, Natasha let herself grin widely and she turned to face us, spreading out her arms to the air.

"This is home!"

I was sort of worried about her mental state.

* * *

**Link of the house is on my profile.**


	8. Wiccan Manor

**Okay, so I lied. I think its the next chapter or so, and finally, you will all know where Marie does get sorted. And when the time comes, I will start a new poll. Who do you wish Anya goes with to the Yule Ball? Leave your opinions.**

**Shout-out to LionsWing and AmyRoxx123. You two always make my day!**

* * *

Cautiously, I put a foot on the porch. The floor creaked but otherwise nothing else happened.

Making a face, I looked over my shoulder. Marie and Natasha were waiting on the garden near the small bird fountain made of stone. The latter was watching me patiently, all traces of her earlier eagerness gone, standing still with her hands inside the pockets of her favorite black coat. Being careful of not being noticed by the older woman, Marie waved her hand impatiently, mouthing "Go on!" insistently.

I rolled my eyes and turned to face the double doors. For a moment, I thought I was seeing things.

"Can't be," I muttered. There were carvings on the wood, similar to those in my vault back in Gringotts, but oddly, the winged pentagrams seemed to be more a warning than just a simple drawing. My hand itched to trace those, but instead, I raised my left one and knocked.

I wasn't sure why I had done it. Perhaps it was childish curiosity or maybe I really had finally gone loopy, like I had told the others.

Marie seemed to be thinking the same, as she loudly voiced what she thought of it.

"That's it? Really? No 'open sesame'?"

I wrinkled my nose, my lips pursuing. Just as I took a step back, I gasped and doubled over, backing into the railing. I tried to not wince at the pain on my back.

"What the hell?" I breathed. Just as it came, the pain on my arm was gone. But instead, a tattoo, the same drawing in the door was now marked on the skin of my wrist. I was both horrified and amazed by this.

I turned to see Natasha, making sure to show the tattoo on my hand: she would have no problem seeing it with the light. To my surprise, the redhead smiled in satisfaction.

"The House is recognizing you as its master," she said, unfazed by my glare. "It only lets inside those from our family."

"If that happens to the owners, I wouldn't like to know how it treats its guests," said Marie, stunned as she chewed her fingers of her left hand while the other continued tapping her leg.

"There's nothing to worry. If you don't have invitation of the hosts, well..."

"It makes me sound as a vampire," the girl said, frowning.

"Hello?" I called loudly. "While you two get on the house's details, I would like to remind you - it gave me a freaking tattoo!"

"Give it two seconds," said Natasha. I stared at her, a shiver running down my spine at the fact that she did not flinch at my reaction. Did this happen often when she has visits? Natasha didn't strike me as a sociable person, even though she was in friendly terms with both Lupin and Mrs. Weasley. Her lack of enthusiasm for Sirius' innocence was enough proof of it.

The burning sensation on my wrist caught my attention and I watched as the tattoo on my skin disappeared. In the end, there was no trace of what happened.

At the same time, the doors of the house flew open inward. I couldn't see anything but darkness. Even so, I walked in.

I stood in the darkness, and in the next instant, light suddenly came from above. Instead of matching the color of the house, the interior was blue. The entry room was very small, only inhabited by picture frames hanging on the walls and a pair of red upholstered stairs on the left side. There were two doors on each side, but Natasha headed to the stairs

As we followed her, she began to talk.

"Welcome to Wiccan Manor, also known as the Night Sky's House. Founded by our ancestors, Aidan Barton and Madeline Rosenberg, its purpose is to shelter those wizards who are in need of help."

"And what is our situation?" I asked without preamble. I was sure she was trying to stall the conversation for a while but I was tired, I was hungry, and I didn't want her of all people, to annoy me at this hour in the morning.

"Your nightmares. Not the usual ones but the recent," said Natasha, not slowing down her pace.

I wasn't surprised she knew. Either she had once caught me rolling in my hammock, sweating and whimpering, or Marie had told her everything. The latter sounded more probable to me.

We continue our journey in silence, not even stopping to look at the window at the top of the wall. The stairs stopped in a corridor full of doors on each side, heading towards another pair of stairs, these more delicate looking than the last. I let Marie climb up first. Biting my cheek, I followed, and it was not until I was half way I realized that the stairs were not being supported by anything.

I was floating in the air, heading to an invisible floor. Panicked, I nearly stumbled but I stopped as I started moving my arms in the air for balance, probably looking like a newborn bird.

To my relief, I _did_ step on something firm, and the ground was no longer invisible as it looked from the stairs. I was in a circular room also full of doors, and the roof was made of glass, allowing me to see the vast blue sky. I was beginning to suspect the house was somehow bigger on the inside, and my doubts were confirmed when I spotted an open door and saw another pair of stairs, this one looking more normal then the last two.

Natasha paid no attention to any of those details, immediately going to one of the doors that had a small golden plaque wearing the omega symbol and opened it, looking back at us expectantly.

But I realized she only meant me as Marie tapped my shoulder, Natasha's eyebrows shooting up in amusement, and embarrassed, I entered the room before her.

It was an office. A strange mix of a office an a study, its size and oddity almost rivaling Dumbledore's. The walls had been painted with the Ravenclaw colors - bronze and blue - and most of the furniture resembled the ones back in Gryffindor Tower. There were about three shelves aligned together on the left, two filled with books, the first on the right covered with odd knickknacks I couldn't describe or fathom at all; I only recognized a miniature version of a grandfather clock and what looked to be a bomb with a timer.

Completely caught off guard, I couldn't help but turn to Natasha in disbelief. For someone so tense and perfectionist as her, I would have never imagined she lived like she was some sort of... psychopath. In fact, the only normal looking was the desk. Not even the chairs got the same privilege.

I sat down without being invited to do so, tilting my head to the side as Natasha sank on her seat comfortably, placing her long legs on the desk and leaned back, sighing in relief. She obviously was on her habitat, looking like a satisfied feline. I wondered if her attitude had anything to do with her Slytherin status.

"Your dreams," said Natasha. "What was the last one about?"

Biting my cheek, I told her exactly the same Harry had said to Hermione and Ron. I also told her that he too, had dreamed the same. She didn't look surprised.

"Ron says this has already happened," I commented. "Back in the Blitz."

Natasha balled her fists. "Yes, when Grindelwald came to power. The Weasley boy isn't far from the truth."

"But this has already happened before," I told her hesitantly. "When Harry faced Voldemort in our first year."

For a long time Natasha stared blankly to the wall behind us, her eyes turning foggy as she lost herself in the past. Had I not blinked in boredom, I would've noticed her eyes briefly turning black. (_I never noticed, not until I learned to watch and see_)

"Do you trust me?" she asked me suddenly, her voice sounding loud in the quiet study.

I pursed my lips and found myself smiling humorlessly. I looked over the scarlet-haired woman's shoulder, recalling the moment I decided to stop asking questions and let everything take its natural course. It hadn't been an easy decision and it had taken all of my pride to not take my words back, to not succumb to the mysteries surrounding my father, and until now, I'd succeeded.

"You know I do," I muttered. The words left a bitter taste on my mouth.

"Then trust me on this: we have ten months, ten months until everything changes, only one week with me to teach you the basics, and you need to control this connection you have with Potter before that day comes.

I hesitated before I asked, sounding meek to my own ears, "What if he already knows?"

Natasha met my gaze coolly, "Then we shall make it difficult to him," she said, her voice bordering on angry. "We are from fighting blood. We _will_ _not_ stand back."

* * *

I was surrounded by pink.

Approaching the nearest wall, I let my bag fall to the ground, and I started to analyze the small details that made this _my_ room.

Although I wasn't particularly fond of the pink color, this one was more softer, almost pale but not quite, making it more my taste. I opened the curtains of the window and watch as the sunlight contrasted with the walls, and it was almost as if I were surrounded by golden light. I smiled, whirling on the spot.

The room was the same size as the girls' dormitory at Hogwarts, but the twin mattress didn't possess a canopy to my disappointment. The bed had been shoved to the corner of the room, right under a smaller window, which from above, was full of empty shelves. To the other side of the room, there was a large board with a small package of different colored pins at the bottom, and I suspected it had been purposely brought so I could put all of my drawings there, just like I had done in St. Louise's.

I thought that if it had a desk, the room would be completely perfect. Still whirling, I stilled, staring at what had been an empty wall otherwise than its window.

It now had a desk.

I frowned. "Hello?"

It was quiet. Then, to my surprise, the lights flickered.

"You're alive!" I breathed, smiling at the ceiling. The lights once again flickered, as if it had nodded.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" I mused.

The power went completely down. Worried that I offended the House - huh, I don't say that often - I began to search for the switch, swinging my arms on the air in hopes of hitting a wall. The light returned, but brought a surprise with it.

I stood there, staring in surprise at what had been an empty board. Right now, it had big words: wELcOMe HoME, anYa. It was mismatched, the letters seeming to have come from newspaper cuttings. Not only that, but the bed spreading had changed, now beige and full of colorful pillows. Slightly disturbed, I noticed a plush toy that looked similar to Billy the Bunny - from the button eyes to the bowtie. I just hoped Natasha had brought all of my belongings from the Orphanage, if not, then the House was not only bigger on the inside but also psychic.

"Well, crap," I said.

* * *

"Marie! Are you ready?"

We were going to Diagon Alley and it was the first time Marie was going to interact with the Wizarding World. I wasn't sure how she would react to magic, seeing as her only experience had been with me and it hadn't been _exactly_ planned. Natasha was waiting by the living room where the chimney was, but impatient, I had run back to the stairs to see her come down quickly, anxiously tapping my fingers on the railing. I didn't know what was taking her so long to dress up: I only had put on a pair of blue jean shorts I'd covered with patches and a violet hoodie. When Marie saw me, she had wrinkled her nose but didn't comment on it. She was slowly getting used to my atrocious sense of fashion - if I had one at all.

"Hold your horses," said Marie from the top, climbing down slowly. She was wearing a distinctive blue dress that looked more like a nightgown than public clothes.

"Diagon Alley might disappear if you lose our time."

She snorted. "It won't, its a place Places can't go anywhere."

"Its a magical one," I reminded her. "Everything can happen when magic is involved."

Even Natasha seemed to be in the mood. For once, she was not wearing that black coat of hers, and instead chose to wear an olive jumper with a pair of jeans and black heels. Out of the three of us, she was the only one that looked remotely Muggle.

"Ready?" asked Natasha.

Using the Floo Network, we landed inside the Leaky Cauldron without complications, not counting when Marie mistook the place as Diagon Alley and asked Tom the bartender for a wand. We quickly ushered her to the back, where the walled courtyard was. Like Professor McGonagall did three years ago, Natasha pulled out her wand and tapped the brick wall in a different pattern. The bricks moved aside, revealing the not so cheery marketplace.

"Well," I sighed. It was disappointing to see the lack of people. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Marie."

Our first stop was Gringotts. Knowing there wasn't enough space in a cart, I told them I would wait up here, waving at Akins who was going to lead them to Natasha's vault. Marie returned carrying a heavy-looking sack over her shoulder, a really sad expression on her face as Natasha put a hand on her head, looking grim. I bit back the torrent of questions that threatened to spill out of my mouth.

Not surprising me on the least, Marie's first request was to go to Flourish and Blotts. Ever since she got her letter, she confiscated most of my old books, and although certain topics were very advanced, Marie understood them perfectly. I could have easily given them away, but she did not accept it, telling me politely she wasn't a charity case, but I started to doubt her intentions when instead of asking the manager, she headed to the darkest section of the shop. Besides the official books, Marie bought other two wrapped in paper bags, the manager looking at her strangely as we walked out.

Next was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Ocassions, then we went to the Apothecary, and from there, we went to Ollivanders'. Gazing at both Natasha and Marie, I realized they looked a little more than worried.

"Ms. Rosenberg, Miss Barton!" said Ollivander joyfully when he saw us. "Eleven inches, silver lime with a dragon heartstring from the last Catalonian Fireball. Oh yes, I remember your wand, perfect for charm work and transfiguration," he said to Natasha. "I do hope you have been taking care of it, after all, it was one of my finest works!"

"I always polish it in the mornings, sir."

"I don't doubt it," he chuckled. "And Miss Barton, has your wand met your expectations?"

"Oh, it has done its work marvelously," not to mention, it had done the most extraordinary curses I could possibly imagine.

"I'm glad to hear that. Oh, what do we have here?" Ollivander looked down at Marie curiously, his eyes scrutinizing her face.

"Marie Harlaown," she introduced herself.

Ollivander nodded. "Yes, I have heard of your family. Excuse my manners, I'm Mr. Ollivander. How may I be of assistance?"

"We are here to buy a wand for Marie," said Natasha, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Wonderful," said Ollivander, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a familiar long tape measure. "Which is your wand arm, my dear?"

"The right one."

"Very well. Stay still."

As the tape measured her, Marie listened with rapt attention as Ollivander gave his speech, nodding from time to time as he said something of he chores, and slowly growing nervous as he finally said, "The wand chooses the wizard."

He gave her wands, each of them ending on the air as the man threw them away, slowly forming a pile of wood. Ollivander stopped, looking at her eyes in the same way he had to me, and she gazed back at him, unflinchingly.

"I wonder..." he muttered. "Yes, yes..."

Ollivander went to the back and returned with a bag, slowly pulling out a a thin reddish stick within.

"Cherry and dragon heartstring, twelve and 1/4 inches, unyielding."

Marie cautiously took the wand and gazed at it in wonder. She waved it on the air, pink sparkles erupting from the end of it, shooting up to the ceiling like small fireworks.

"Impossible!" she gasped, looking at it adoringly.

"Not impossible, Miss Harlaown, not at all. You only needed to find the right anchor, just as this wand needed too find its rightful owner. Many tried to purchase it, but even the wand knew it wasn't made for them. They weren't suited for her." He smiled, offering his hand to shake. "Its my great honor to have meet you, and I hope everything goes well."

Marie, to my extreme surprise, grinned. "Ta, sir!"

* * *

Time flew and only three days were left before I returned to Hogwarts. Most of my things were already packed, my clothes were still on the laundry, and Caleb never stopped fidgeting whenever he was on the late Otto's cage. On the board, all of my new drawings had been pinned: theories written in the middle of the night after waking up from a nightmare, small sketches that included Voldemort's new ugly form, cuttings from the Daily Prophet, new and old, including some of Rita Skeeter's articles. There wasn't enough space left despite the board covering the entire wall but I still could see the small calendar I had hung on the corner. As each day passed, I marked it on red, always adding the words '_no progress_' under the date.

It wasn't my fault and Natasha knew that. Since the day the conversation took place, she has taught me methods, all of them with the purpose of tricking the enemy inside my mind. Some of them I recognized from having watched Riddle, others were easy to do, but there were two, two that I couldn't control and always gave me a headache.

The first, learning to lock my memories and thoughts in form of a labyrinth. The second, how to manipulate passages if the enemy manages to infiltrate my head.

Little progress was made even though the older woman had warned me it was normal, that no person of my age had tried to learn this when it was already difficult for a grown-up to get the hang of it. As much as she tried to comfort me, it did little to soothe my growing frustration.

A knock pulled me out of my reverie. Marie was hanging by the door, looking at anything but me.

"Hey," I said. Her strange behavior was quite obvious. "You can come in."

"I have something to tell you," she whispered, sitting on my bed. As I was on my desk chair, I pushed myself until I slid as close as I could get without invading her space.

I clapped my hands. "I'm all ears."

Marie sighed. "I wasn't supposed to receive a letter." At my blank reaction, she clarified, "From Hogwarts."

"Okay," I drawled. "But you know, since you came from a family full of wizards -" or so she said, "- it was quite obvious you would receive one."

"No no, you don't understand. I wasn't meant to receive an acceptance letter from Hogwarts."

I frowned, "Are you a Squib?" To my knowledge, I knew that the Ministry of Magic kept a list of those born without magic.

"No," said Marie. She looked from one side to another and then, after giving a deep breath, said, "I'm an Emphat."

I frowned in confusion. "Sorry? A what?"

"An Emphat is someone who is affected by other people's energies," she hastened to say. "And has an innate ability to intuitively feel and perceive beings."

"I still don't get it," I rubbed my head.

Looking mildly annoyed, Marie continued, "It means I can feel emotions. It's not a strange occurrence for Muggles but within the Wizarding World... well, its like being a werewolf; they look at it in fear and cower. Wizards already have the ability to see and read thoughts, like Leglimens, but we differ in that we are able to manipulate their emotions. Sometimes, we leave a scar behind."

"And you are telling me this why?"

She swallowed, looking at me with great fear, which confused me.

"Don't - don't you find strange that you began to trust me when you returned from your second year?"

I raised my eyebrows. "No. Should I?"

"Oh you should," she said. "You should be really really mad at me."

"Marie, you're beginning to worry me."

"No, you still aren't getting it!"

"And you are freaking me out!" I barked, jumping from my seat. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Answer me this," she says instead. "Answer me... didn't you felt it?"

"Felt what? Marie, felt WHAT?!"

"When I called you Annie - why did you tell me about Riddle when you never speak of him to your friends?"

I stumbled away from her, confused and angry. All the air left my lungs, my heart hammering against my chest, and I swallowed, trying to think - _think -_ what exactly happened that day.

Natasha said there were times memories were strategically locked, only waiting to be revealed when the right time came. Of course, to release it, there had to be a trigger but sometimes it could be left forgotten, never remembered and the memory would be just one secret that would never be mentioned aloud. Words have power, just like spells can do enough damage at the perfect time of the battle.

When Marie asked why I trusted her about Riddle, it was as if a light bulb had gone on inside my head. Ignoring the headache that threatened to worsen, the memory of that day started playing through my eyes.

With only a week fresh from Hogwarts, I had already managed to shut out the outside world by locking myself in my attic without speaking to anyone. The following days were of desolation and tears. I got to throw all objects my hands could get and by the third day, I had run out of clean things and the darkest side of the attic was my next target. Not only that, my mood worsened, the nightmares growing from simple details like '_You don't have friends_' to '_You did this to us_', making me more paranoid than I already was.

I asked Natasha if she didn't have some dreamless potion or something: she said I needed to fight by my own.

It had been Marie who had braved enough to face me directly. With long strides she approached me, her mouth opening into what seemed to be an accusation and she stopped, staring at me as if she was seeing me for the first time. Kneeling, she asked me if I was alright. And I had looked into her eyes, her so disturbing blue eyes, captivating me, until I was suddenly spilling out everything that happened that ear, bursting into tears.

Marie also cried with me and slept in my hammock whilst I hugged her tightly, feeling like I needed something to anchor me while I still had the chance.

"What did you do?" I asked, suddenly horrified that all of it had just been a manipulation on her part, when she knew I hadn't been on my right mind.

"I'm so so sorry," Marie wiped at her cheeks, making me notice she had started to cry at some point of my silence. "I can control it - I swear I can, but you were so loud! So angry, so sad... so lonely. So, so lonely."

I blinked at her.

"Just like now," she said. "Even though you have friends, you have never been so lonely than in this moment. Its like if you were a beacon, Anya. You give your everything, but you can never take it back."

* * *

**Marie's story will be explained on the next chapter. How do you think Anya will react after she hears it?**


	9. Marie

**To whoever is interested, I have uploaded on my tumblr account photos of Anya and Marie's wands along with an explanation of why they fit them, according to Pottermore and their personalities. There's also details about Wiccan Manor and of St. Louise's Orphanage, and there will be at least one preview for the next chapter.**

**Oh, before I forget, I would like to apologize for any grammar mistakes you'll probably see. English is not my first language and when I started writing the Barton Saga, I was barely managing to speak it, let alone write it!**

**Without much ado, carry on!**

* * *

"I was disowned by the Harlaown family when I was seven years old. There were times I spoke without thinking or that I felt things I shouldn't, not when I was that young at least. I remember picking up people's feelings, like when they lied, or when they were angry, things like that. One day though, my father came smelling strange, he felt hot and sated... I told him in the middle of our dinner that I knew he had been with another woman. My mum and him weren't on the best of terms but they had come to an agreement; they would be honest to each other, no matter what." She smiles ruefully. "Of course, this was the icing on the cake. For them and for me. They looked everywhere they could ad even brought me to a Healer, and he told them what I was, why I was strange, why I acted so mature and childish at the same time. I still remember the look on their faces - they were so scared! So disgusted that they had been able to procreate something like me."

At my frown, she said, "Its okay, it doesn't hurt anymore when I say it. Anyways, they didn't know what to do with me. They couldn't obviously make me disappear when I had been already introduced to their friends and they weren't entirely heartless to make me go to the streets. That's where Miss Rosenberg enters. She talked to them and convinced them into letting her take me away, with just the condition of keeping the surname. As long as I was away from them, they could care less.

"The next day, it was as if I hadn't existed on their lives. The next time I saw my older brother, he didn't acknowledge me at all, not even a single flicker of recognition in his eyes. Miss Rosenberg came and took me away. I arrived at St. Louise's without a single thing, just my clothes and my shoes. Mrs. Darcy seemed taken with me until I accidentally told her I knew what kind of person she was." As Marie let out a pleased smile, I noticed she didn't sound as ashamed as the words seemed.

"And then I met you, and like they say, the rest is history."

She fell silent.

"Aren't you going to say something?" She added, "Aren't you angry?"

I chuckled, turning from the window as the sun began to settle down.

"Oh, I am angry. Don't doubt that for a second. I'm just trying to come up to terms with this because if you have just realized, you basically told me you did some mumbo jumbo so I could like you, even ging so far that I trusted you with my worst moment ever. Mind you, you were witness of that already but the thought still stands."

"I had to tell you before we went to Hogwarts," said Marie. "I knew it wouldn't be daisies and sunshines and then everyone is happy and dancing."

I pursed my lips. "Well, you will have to give me some time." I leaned back, arms crossed. I was clearly dismissing her.

After Marie left, I moved over the window and watched the sunset until the sky turned shades of pink and violet, all the while pondering how this revelation would change my relationship with the odd girl.

* * *

The day we would go at Hogwarts dawned gloomily, the sky was cloudless and windows were damp from the morning breeze. The wind was also getting colder, I noticed, and put on my yellow hoodie.

Unlike the first time in which Natasha took me in her Volkswagen - or piece of crap, as Marie dubbed it -, we Apparated in an alley near the King's Cross station, our trunks already loaded on the same cart.

"Why do I have to push the trolley?" I asked, annoyed as I pushed through the crowd.

Marie, who was sitting above the trunks and with Caleb's cage on her lap, said, "Because," as if that single word explained it all.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't," she sang, throwing me a wide smile over her shoulder.

Yesterday night, I had approached her when she had been sitting on the swing that hung in one of the branches of the huge willow tree planted on Wiccan House's backyard. She had immediately stopped swinging the moment she saw walking through the backdoor, her doe-like eyes widening as I purposely made my way toward her. Her fear melted into confusion and startled when I was suddenly standing before her, looking down at her with my arms crossed.

"How -"

"So that you know that I'm not lying to when I say this," I told her, smirking when she continued to gap at me. "Marie Harlaown, I forgive you. But don't expect me to start trusting you so soon. You will have to earn my trust in the old way - with time."

It was very stupid of me to jump straight to the situation, knowing well that there was the possibility that it would not work but still, I did and it _did_ work. It was the first technique of protection that Natasha taught me, one of the most basic that according to her wasn't hard to call upon, even when it gave me a huge headache that lasted a day. It was supposed to protect my mind and body to whatever it was inflicted on me whilst the rest functioned normally as it did, the only downside was that I had to be on constant vigilance all the twenty hours of the day. Having a vague idea of how Marie's empathy worked, I decided to give it my first try on her - and it had worked marvelously. Now, I had to keep up with it while I still tried to learn the rest.

"Hold on tight," I said and pushed running up to the wall, Marie holding herself with one hand, and we quickly appeared on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Natasha made her jump off the trunks and with a hand on her shoulder lead her away from the iron archway above us.

"I can't do it," said Marie as we stood before the red steaming engine. A little away from us, stood a man waving a bell and yelling "All aboard!", kids shuffling by him after they said their hasty goodbyes to their families. She hugged Caleb's cage to her chest, ignoring the owl's insistent hoots. "I'm terrible at being nice to people and making conversation without pointing out their flaws!"

"Marie, there will be people that will not like your personality," said Natasha. "Ignore them, because they aren't worth your time. Just hang around for a while and you will see that the best people always are the ones who you don't think are - flaws and all. Come on, I will help you both."

Waving her wand, the two trunks rose in the air and floated behind her.

"You two have to be careful," she said quietly. But by the way her eyes lingered on my way, I knew she probably had aimed them at me.

"Why for?" I asked, when I all meant to say is, _what this time for?_

"Something is going to happen on Hogwarts, I know, and it all has to do with the TriWizard tournament."

Marie took a sharp intake of breath. "_The TriWizard tour_ -"

"Shh! Not aloud!"

"What the hell is that?" I asked.

Marie turned to face me, looking aghast. "You don't know?! Its -" Natasha snapped a door compartment open, silencing her.

"You two will have to look out for each other, understood? I mean it. We are family, we only have the three of us to look after, no matter what happens, no matter what are the circumstances."

Marie said a quiet, "Yeah," when I simply nodded, frowning at the strange sentiment hiding behind her words.

The scarlet-haired woman hugged us one last time and jumped off the train, turning to wave at us as we finally began to move. Her figure faded and disappeared of view as the train rounded the corner.

"You can go and look for your friends," said Marie. She was not looking at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"I'll be fine."

Torn between her and my friends, I decided that if she was suggesting it, it must be because she wanted to be alone. With a quiet 'see you later', I left the compartment and began to walk down the corridor. To my displeasure, the first thing I heard was Draco Malfoy's sneering voice, and I blocked any negative feelings that came when he was involved. I was relieved to hear Hermione talking across the peroxide blond's.

"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he? I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" I heard Harry say.

"Yes," Hermione sniffed, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," Ron said as I opened the door of their compartment. "Where is it? What country?"

"According to a few sources, in the coasts of Russia," I raised an eyebrow. "Although, no one's supposed to know that so lets keep it quiet for a while, don't we?"

Ron rolled his eyes, budging down the seat. "Hello Anne."

"Er - why not? I mean, why nobody knows?" Harry asked me.

Instead, Hermione answered in her matter-of-fact voice, "There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets."

"Come off it," Ron laughed. "Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts - how are you going to hide a great big castle?"

"But Hogwarts _is_ hidden," I said. "Everyone knows that..."

"Well, everyone who's read _Hogwarts, A History,_ anyway," said Hermione.

"Just you, then," said Ron.

"And Annie too!"

I rolled my eyes. "Because _you_ made me.'

"So go on - how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"

"There could be a good chance," I said, shrugging, "or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable -"

"Come again?"

"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"

"Er... if you say so," Harry said.

"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."

"Ah, think of the possibilities," Ron said dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident... Shame his mother likes him..."

"There's always a downside," I said wisely.

"How have you been?" Hermione asked me.

I shrugged. "'s been alright. I don't think I will return back at the Orphanage though."

"Why?" surprisingly, it was Harry who inquired this, looking greatly alarmed. I decided to ignore it for the meantime.

"After we left the Burrow, Natasha took us - Marie and me - to her house. Believe me, it gave me a fright the first time I touched the door. It was like being in the twilight zone mixed with the Shrieking Shack. Most of my things were already there but I'll have to make one last trip to see if there was anything left."

"Oh," said Harry. He looked both annoyed and saddened by the thought.

"Why now?" Ron asked, his brows furrowing. "I mean - couldn't she have done that years ago?"

"Beats me," I said, shifting uncomfortably.

We talked about other things as the rain became heavier as the train neared Hogwarts, the sky growing darker that by midday the lanterns were lit. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for us to share. Several people came in to see us, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom, a boy with round face and brown eyes who I had grown closer to since the beginning of third year. When I threw him a wide grin, he fumbled with his chocolate frog, the tips of his ears turning faintly red and he did not look near my face again, making me wonder if the crush he harbored on me was still there.

Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette, which still squeaked the names of the players in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way.

"Take it off," I complained, feeling pity for the object even though it wasn't alive.

Seamus puffed out his chest. "You're just jealous you don't have one of these with all the Ireland's player autographs on it," he boasted.

"How did you do that?" Ron asked faintly, hovering a hand over Seamus' rosette. He shoved Ron's hand away.

"I have my ways," he said mysteriously, at which Dean snorted.

"He stalked all the players before the game. They only gave in because Seamus here was starting to unnerve them. Mind you, I was too."

We laughed at Seamus' expense.

"Gran didn't want to go," Neville said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though."

"It was," said Ron. "Look at this, Neville…"

He stood on the seat and began to rummage his trunk, pulling out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum with a triumphant, "Aha!"

Neville watched as the doll walked back and forth in Ron's palm. "Oh wow."

"We saw him right up close, as well," said Ron. "We were in the Top Box -"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."

I let out an exasperated sigh as Draco Malfoy and his two apes, Crabbe and Goyle, appeared in the doorway.

"Malfoy, its too early to see your face," I complained. I pointed at the doorway, snapping my fingers and closed my eyes, dipping my head back in a suddenly tired manner. "Get out."

"It's not like if I came for the view, Barton," Malfoy retorted, the sneer on his long face making him look childish. "Weasley - what is that?"

Before anyone could stop him, he seized the maroon blanket that had covered Pidwidgeon's, Ron's new owl, cage. To my surprise, the blanket took form of an oversized coat.

I looked at it with a critical eye. "Those are dress robes?" I sneered, holding up a sleeve with lace-covered cuffs. Ron shoot me a glare.

Malfoy guwaffed. "Even Barton here agrees with me!"

"Ugh, that it's just plain worse than the clothes," I uttered, letting go of the robe.

"Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety -"

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" Ron said, turning red. He snatched the robes from Malfoy's grip as he and his cronies laughed.

"So… going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know… you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won…"

"What are you talking about?" Ron snapped.

"Are you going to enter?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," said Hermione testily, looking from _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face.

"Don't tell me you don't know?" he said delightedly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago… heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry… Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley… yes… they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him…"

I scoffed, opening my eyes lazily. "Who says we don't now, Malfoy?"

"Do you?" he challenged.

I smiled condescendingly. "Malfoy, we are not the type who loves to divulge the Ministry's secrets. Imagine what sort of trouble your father would be in if they found out their son was being a tattletale," I widened my eyes, tutting, and he took a step back, just realizing what I meant. "Doesn't look good at all for ol' dear daddy, innit?" My smile fell and I glared at him. "Get out, Malfoy. I mean it."

Malfoy glared at me viciously before he jerked his head at Crabbe and Goyle, the three of them disappearing. Seeing as I was closer to the door, I got to my feet and closed the sliding compartment door with a quiet _click!_.

The trio stared at me for a while, not bothering to hide their disbelief.

"Blimey," said Ron, breaking the silence. "Its been a while since you have done that."

"Done what?"

"That - you know, the whole smiling and intimidating Malfoy thing!"

"Oh."

"It was wicked!"

I sighed, snorting softly. Honestly, only Ron would openly admit to being scared of me and then gush about how I put Draco Malfoy on his place.

It was actually refreshing.

"Did you even know what he was talking about?" Harry asked curiously. I debated if I should tell them about the TriWizard Tournament. But Natasha's comment had been far too vague, more than the usual way she spoke, and the obvious turmoil in Marie's voice when she heard about it left me worried. I decided to play it safe.

"No." I was never more proud of my lying skills than at this day.

* * *

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Marie glanced at the sky and turned to the compartment, opening the pink umbrella as she stepped out.

"Be careful of the Dabberblimps, she said," Marie muttered, looking at the carriages across the station with longing. Her brows arched though, when she saw faint silhouettes pulling from them. Another downpour of water made her wince, and when she looked again, the figures were gone and the carriages were already moving.

The rain was falling down thickly around the umbrella and she worried for a moment it would break and water would pour down her head, but then remembered it had been Miss Rosenberg who gave it to her. It probably was charmed to withstand the storm.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

The sight of the huge man waving his lamp sent a wave of comfort through her body. Hagrid, Anya had called him Hagrid, the one who loved to collect dangerous pets. Marie fought her way through the rain and slowed down behind the bunch of scared first years. She grinned and twirled the umbrella's handle with her fingers.

Anya had told her it wouldn't probably happen, but she couldn't wait and see if the giant squid would try to greet them.


	10. TriWizard Tournament

**Sometimes I wonder if anyone is reading this anymore but then I read the reviews and the PM's and I think that you all are only waiting for me to continue with the fifth book. Don't worry about that - see, I still haven't finished reading it. Unbelievable, right? I love OotP in movies and in fanfiction but I still haven't read it! I don't know if any writer here does it, but as I read along I put on sticky notes on the pages with quotes or details I want to add to the story and also I try to fit my OC's like Natasha, Marie, James (he'll definitely be there!) and Anya and how they grow slowly. I may update a third chapter for Just One More Lie and also rewrite the second chapter, but no promises.**

**I'll give you a spoiler though: I haven't written it yet but there's this huge twist that will change everything for the last two books, and it will leave a permanent shock in Anya's life. In fact, I think I did a lot of twists for fifth year but this one nearly brings me to tears. Can you guess what it is?**

**I hope my little rant appeased you all, but I don't think so because even _I_ am jumping to finish the fourth book.**

**I don't own Harry Potter, only things you don't recognize. R & R!**

* * *

"Damn you, Peeves," I cursed, sniffing. Rain worsened when our carriage had stopped in front of the oak doors. The moment Ron kicked the door open, the four of us rushed to the Entrance Hall to avoid getting soaked wet. Our efforts were in vain though, as Peeves had chosen that moment to play one of his pranks and soon, water-filled balloons had begun to fall from above. Professor McGonagall had rushed out of the Great Hall but because the floor was very slippery, she almost fell and grabbed the closest thing to her, which had been Hermione's neck. By the time she had straightened, Peeves already had disappeared, the rest of his balloons falling like small bombs.

As I shook the water out of my robes, Harry took off his sneakers and tilted them, water pouring to the ground.

"Hope they hurry up with the Sorting," Harry said. "I'm starving."

"Wonder were Marie will end up," I mused. "My hopes are in Hufflepuff though."

He raised his eyebrows. "Not Gryffindor?"

I shook my head. "Doesn't suit her. From what I have gathered, she would be perfect on Slytherin."

"Hiya, Harry!"

Harry winced and turned to face Colin Creevey. Colin was a mousy boy that worshiped the ground where Harry walked and never wasted a chance to take a photo of him.

"Hi, Colin," said Harry warily.

"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"Er - good?"

"He's really excited!" said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"

"Er - yeah, all right," said Harry. Assured that Colin wasn't paying attention, he turned to us.

"Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" he asked.

"Oh no, not necessarily," said Hermione. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

She looked at the staff table and did a double take. "Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Three chairs were empty. Hagrid and Professor McGonagall were both justified but the third chair belonged to the Defense Against Darks Arts teacher. Since I had studied here, not a single teacher had lasted but a year. So far, Lupin had been the best. Unfortunately, Professor Snape had divulged his werewolf status and Lupin had left before the Howlers could arrive.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Hermione, looking anxious.

Bored, I looked up at the ceiling. Just as the outside, the fake-sky was stormy, thunder rumbled, the clouds shifting with the harsh air.

"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, on Harry's other side. "I could eat a Hippogriff."

"If you can catch one, count me in," I mumbled, distracted because at that moment, the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell.

With McGonagall on the lead, the group of first years followed, trembling, and looked in awe at the ceiling. If I had thought I was wet, those kids looked like they had swum all the way from the station rather than traveled by the boats. They came to a stop between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, peering nervously at the front, few standing on their tiptoes - all except for the strange couple that walke in on the last moment.

Marie Harlaown whistled merrily as she swung a pink umbrella back and forth, her arm intertwined with that of a small, mousy-haired boy, who was wrapped in what I recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. They both looked thoroughly excited despite being soaked from head to toes.

"Hi Anya!" Marie yelled, waving her umbrella in the air. Several heads turned in my direction and I quickly ducked, hiding my red face behind the curtain of hair.

"Merlin, kill me now," I moaned, embarrassed.

"Its about to start!" Hermione hissed, poking my head.

I let out a relieved sigh as the Sorting Hat began to speak, all students' eyes focusing on it.

_A thousand years or more ago,  
__When I was newly sewn,  
__There lived four wizards of renown,  
__Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,  
__Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,  
__Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,  
__Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_The shared a wish, a hope, a dream,  
__They hatched a daring plan  
__To educate young sorcerers  
__Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders  
__Formed their own House, for each  
__Did value different virtues  
__In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were  
__Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest  
__Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were  
__Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin  
__Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide  
__Their favorites from the throng,  
__Yet how to pick the worthy ones  
__When they were dead and gone?_

_'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,  
__He whipped me off his head  
__The founders put some brains in me  
__So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,  
__I've never yet been wrong,  
__I'll have a look inside your mind  
__And tell where you belong!_

"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," Harry said, clapping along with everyone else.

"Sings a different one every year," Ron said. "It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."

I straightened as McGonagall unrolled a large scroll of parchment and cleared her throat.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool. When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table." She told the first years. "Ackerley, Stewart!"

A tiny boy walked forward, trembling all over. Because of the water or the nerves, I wasn't sure, but he put on the hat and sat on the stool.

"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat shouted.

Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Malcolm Baddock joined the table on the other end of the Hall, looking as proud as the other Slytherins did, clapping at the arrival of their new snake.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

I could now see the resemblance between the siblings: though Colin's hair was lighter, his brother's eager expression was just the same as his, from the way the boy's nose scrunched as he grinned, down to the eager look in his blue eyes. If it wasn't for the age gape, they could easily be confused as fraternal twins.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Dennis Creevey beamed as the Gryffindor table roared their cheers, and took off the Sorting Hat, placing it on the stool and hurried to sit by his brother.

"Colin, I fell in! It was brilliant! And then a girl jumped and helped me float on her umbrella and something in the water grabbed us and pushed us back in the boat!"

I slapped my forehead. How could she have been _so _reckless?!

"Cool! It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"Wow!"

I let my head fall on the table, wincing when the cutlery shook.

"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?"

"Dobbs, Emma!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

It took only a few names before McGonagal finally said, "Harlaown, Marie!"

I watched with hawk-like eyes as the blue-eyed girl sat down on the stool first and placed gently the Sorting Hat on her head. In the background, I could hear Dennis Creevey saying excitedly, "That's her! Colin, that's the girl I told you about!"

But a minute passed. The tear that worked as its mouth curled, seeming to be thinking, and above where the eyes would be was creased as if it was frowning.

The Sorting Hat hummed but didn't say otherwise. Two more minutes passed, and it didn't move. Marie kept switching her umbrella from her right to her left hand. Because the Hat covered her eyes, only her mouth was visible and from what I could see, she was talking to it.

"She's a Hatstall!" said Hermione excitedly, although it hadn't yet reached the five minutes mark to call someone an official Hatstall.

"What is that?"

I turned to Harry, whispering, "Its when the Sorting Hat doesn't know where to place you. You could easily fit in all of the Houses depending on your personality. Sometimes, to break the tie, the Hat lets you choose. They are very rare you know, only occurs around once every fifty years. Its the second time it happens on this decade," I added, remembering my own Sorting. My lip curled. "Tell me I just didn't sound like Hermione?"

Harry shook his head bemusedly. With a resigned sigh, I let my head fall on his shoulder. Harry tensed, and I realized what I had done. Slowly, I moved away from him, as if he was fire, and willed myself to blush, not this time.

Tuning to reality, I saw Marie stop moving. The umbrella hung limply on her right hand and she opened her mouth, just as the rip at the brim did -

"RAVENCLAW!"

Perhaps it was because Marie was a Hatstall, a rare fact that only occurred at half a century, but the Ravenclaw table gave its loudest cheer and jumped to their feet, clapping and beaming as Marie joined them. Her eyes met mine briefly, and I noticed the twinkle of mischief in them, walking past the empty spots closest to her and instead, sat next to a girl with dirty-blond hair by the end of the table. I saw the Ravenclaws gazing at her in bewilderment and whispering to each other. The girl turned to look at Marie with wide eyes, and Marie placed the wet umbrella on the table, ignoring her.

I blinked. "That... wasn't surprising at all."

"Preferable to Slytherin," Harry teased.

"Yeah."

The Sorting continued: boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces went through the process, the line of children decreasing as McGonagall passed the L's.

"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, rubbing his stomach as he mouthed at his arm, drooling on the sleeve.

Nearly Headless Nick, who sat across us, said, "Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food."

"Madley, Laura!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Course it is, if you're dead," Ron snapped.

Sir Nick ignored him.

"McDonald, Natalie!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," said Sir Nick. "We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?"

I snorted a bit. For the last three years in a row, Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship, though Sir Nick failed to remember that it had been because of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I (and Neville, once). Since the beginning, we had gone through dangerous quests, two in which we dealt with the darkest wizard from all time, Voldemort, and almost died in the process, yet at the end, we always got out safely. Dumbledore never failed to shower us with points for our 'bravery and withstanding courage', which in my opinion, was just a front to hide the truth from the other students.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Whitby, Kevin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

With a final round of applause, the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away. "About time," said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.

The Headmaster stood, spreading his arms with a welcoming smile. Professor Dumbledore looked no different since the first time I met him: the candlelight caught onto his hair and long beard, shining silver in the dimly lit Hall, the stars and moons embroidered on his emerald robes rippling on the fabric and changing of color. His blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles as he spoke, his deep voice echoing around the Hall.

"I have only two words to say to you: tuck in."

"Hear, hear!" Harry and Ron exclaimed, digging into the food as the plates and dishes filled before our eyes. I was no better, grasping everything I could with both hands.

Ron sighed through a mouthful of mashed potato.

"Aaah, 'at's be'er."

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," said Sir Nick as he stared at the food mournfully. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? Wha' 'appened?" Harry asked, lowering his chink of steak.

"Peeves, of course," said Sir Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast - well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council - the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance – but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

I glanced at the ghost that sat - or floated? - at the Slytherin table. The Bloody Baron was a gaunt ghost who I never heard speak before, covered in bright blood thought it looked silvery. No one ever dared to question where did they come from as he was too scary, one of the reasons why he was the only one to keep Peeves the Poltergeist on his toes.

"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," said Ron darkly.

"So what did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh the usual. Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits -"

CLANG!

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" I exclaimed. "Hermione!"

"There are house elves here?" she asked, not paying me attention. "Here at Hogwarts?"

As Sir Nick spoke, I grabbed a napkin, angrily rubbing at my robe and settled the cup in place, making sure it was safely out of my reach (or Hermione's).

"Slave labor," Hermione was muttering when I finished. "That's what made this dinner. _Slave labor_."

I was definitely _not_ going to ask.

For the rest of dinner, Ron tried to persuade Hermione into eating something, often waving dishes under her nose, and only gave up when she threw him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall and shut up.

Rain continued to fall heavily against the glass, the wind howled, and with a clap of thunder, all remnants of food disappeared. Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again and the chatter ceased at once.

"So!" Dumbledore said, smiling around at us all. "Now that we are all fed and watered." ("Hmph!" Hermione said.) "I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbess, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year. This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -"

But at that moment, there was a rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. The candle lights flickered for a moment and then dimmed, allowing us to see the man standing in the doorway. He was leaning on a long staff, covered in a black cloak.

Lightning flashed on the ceiling and then, the man no longer had his hood up. He shook his head, his long mane of dark grey hair sticking to his face, then began to walk toward the teachers' table, a dull clunk echoing through the hell with each step he took.

The man didn't look at anywhere that wasn't Dumbledore, and when he reached him, a clap of thunder accompanied by a flash of lightning gave us chance to see him more clearly. At the sight of the man's face, my body tensed. My hand instinctively reached for my wand.

Although the man's face was scarred, giving the impression of a poorly carved face on wood, it was the eyes that frightened the most. One eye was small, dark, and beady; the other was large and round, a vivid electric blue, fastened by a leather strap around his head. It moved left and right, up and down, then rolled over until the pupil disappeared.

The man offered a scarred hand to Dumbledore, who shook it, muttering what looked like a question as the man shook his head and replied a negative, all the while unsmiling. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

As the stranger sat down and pulled a plate of sausages toward himself, Dumbledoere said brightly, "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Professor Moody."

I kept looking at the man with some suspicion. Nobody clapped except for Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid, not even the teachers, but Moody didn't seem bothered by his less-than-warm welcome. Whilst he ate, his blue eye still rolled around its socket, taking in his surroundings.

"Moody? Mad-Eye Moody?" Harry said under his breath.

I leaned across the table and said, "Pay up, Finnigan," but never took my eyes from the man. After all, whoever had come across a History book doesn't know about Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody? He was a very well known Auror, and half the cells of Azkaban were filled thanks to him, though according to a few articles from the Prophet, he was mad as a hatter these days.

He confirmed my suspicions by pulling out a hip flask from his travelling cloak and taking a long swig from it, lifting his arm and on the process, allowing us to see that he had a wooden leg with a claw-like foot in the end. Whatever he was drinking, I doubted it was pumpkin juice.

"What happened? What hapenned to his face?" Hermione whispered.

"War," I said dryly. I felt Harry shift and knew he was looking at me. For both his and my sake, I forced my body to relax.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying, we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the TriWizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar..."

I snorted a laugh as he faltered under McGonagall's pointed glare and clear of throat.

"Er - but maybe this is not the time... no... where was I? Ah yes, the TriWizard Tournament... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who _do_ know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The TriWizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Death Toll?" I said loudly, Hermione whispering along. No one seemed to catch that bit though: everyone was whispering excitedly to each other, making me roll my eyes at their immature reactions.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their shortlisted contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the TriWizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" the Weasley twins hissed in unison, looking up at Dumbledore in determination. They were not the only ones, as a fair amount of people from each House was doing the same or muttering to themselves excitedly.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" - Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen."

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Dumbledore sat and began speaking to Mad-Eye Moody.

There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

"They can't do that!" shouted George Weasley in the front, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions will get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"But of course, lets forget about the death toll, don't we?" I said sarcastically. I had no doubt the twins were rather brilliant but they were too careless and rash, preferring the thrill of danger and of getting caught than anything. With their attitude, if for some miracle they got in, they would only get killed for nothing.

I heard my name being called and I stopped, turning to see Marie grinning expectantly at me.

"So?" she said.

I cocked my head side to side, smirking slightly. "A Raven - not bad. I didn't expect you to be a Hatstall though."

"I know! Cool, isn't?"

"A bit. Oh right, Neville," I said, turning to the boy at my side, "this is Marie, my roommate at the Orphanage. Marie, this is -"

She waved her hand. "I know, Neville Longbottom, your best friend and all," Neville turned a faint pink and Marie narrowed her eyes, leaning closer and standing on her tiptoes. Her eyes seemed to be piercing a hole through him. "Do you have a crush on her?"

"Anyway!" I said loudly, grabbing her shoulders and turning her around. "Its a bit late and I don't know the way tot he Ravenclaw common room so, you better go with your House mates and follow the Prefect, and remember, don't do anything dangerous and/or strange."

"That's what you and your friends are there for," she said blankly.

"Yeah, yeah, see you in the morning!" Shoving her lightly, I quickly snatched Neville's hand and dragged him behind the others. They were still arguing about the TriWizard tournament.

Neville stammered. The blush still hadn't left his face. "Um, that was..."

"Yeah," I nodded. "She's a little odd, but don't worry, you get used to it after a while."

"She reminded me of you, actually," he said. Before I could say something, I heard Fred say, airily, "Fancy entering?"

"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older… dunno if we've learned enough…"

"I definitely haven't," said Neville, looking gloomy. "I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to -"

"Careful!" I grabbed his arm, stopping him from putting a foot on one of the tricky steps. The suit of armor at the top of the stairs wheezed in disappointment.

"Shut it," I said, banging down its visor as we passed.

We made our way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said as we approached.

"Balderdash, a prefect downstairs told me," said George in response to our surprised looks.

The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which we all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was fully of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione casted a dark look to the flames on the chimney, muttering "_Slave labor_," under her breath.

"Goodnight," she said to the boys, and disappeared through the doorway to the girls' dormitory. Sighing, I turned to face them and waved before I followed her.

I climbed the spiral stairs until I reached the top of the tower. There was a parchment of paper was plastered to the door that proclaimed we, the fourth year girls, were the hottest residents on the castle. Snorting a laugh, I removed the paper and crushed it on my hand. It probably was Lavender Brown's doing or her best friend's, Parvati Patil.

Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Fay Dunbar was already getting into bed, only greeting me with a slight nod of her head and closed her curtains quietly. Parvati already had changed into her nightgown and was chatting with Lavender, the girl's voice echoing through the bathroom's door. Hermione meanwhile, was pulling off her clothes crossly, looking at her bed sourly. As I sat down to take off my shoes on own, I discovered someone - probably a house-elf - had placed a warming pan between the sheets.

I started taking off the uniform, choosing to wear an old yellow t-shirt and a pair of black shorts. Parvati glanced at my chest - I often heard her and Lavender talking about how bigger it was, the more it attracted the boys - and her eyes widened considerably. She didn't say anything but instead began too knock consistently on the bathroom's door. The door opened and she quickly sneaked in.

Raising my eyebrows, I took a peek at my bosom, curious and kneaded them gently. They looked no different than before but then again, I didn't like to look at myself much. Shrugging, I put on the shirt.

From the bed on my right, I could her Hermione mutter darkly to herself. She suddenly stood and made her way toward the bathroom's door, knocking and without waiting, she went inside. The loud chatter from before died and Lavender and Parvati ran out, looking embarrassed and slightly scared.

I waited for Hermione to get out. As much as all the five of us were comfortable with each other to the point of changing clothes near being naked, I was much more private when it came to my bathroom time.

After I brushed my teeth and did my needs, I slipped into bed. Pictures formed inside my head as I thought of the TriWizard tournament, of three faceless persons standing in the middle of a stadium... a beam of light fell on the one standing on the middle... it was Harry, looking grim as the stadium broke into cheers, his hands were covered in blood... then people in dark cloaks Apparated around the champions, one lowering his hood... Tom Riddle smirked and started to laugh, except it wasn't his voice...

I rose from bed, gasping, my neck feeling damp and my face was hot, burning. I had fallen asleep, I realized. It was still night and my roommates' light snores echoed around me. I closed my eyes and fell back on my sheets. I looked at the ceiling for a moment before I closed my eyes. With a sigh, I burrowed into my sheets, and hoped I wouldn't dream anything at all.

* * *

**So, Marie is in Ravenclaw. I thought Slytherin suited her better and I received a well-thought argument of her being sorted into Hufflepuff, but well, you guys choose.**

**On another note, you better vote for this one, ASAP: Who should Anya go to the Yule Ball with? Poll's on my profile.**


	11. Mad to the Core

**Shout-out to dauntlessfamily, ALuckyStrikerNurse, and as always, to the amazing Lion's Wing and AmyRoxx123!**

**I don't own Harry Potter. Only whatever you don't recognize. Sorry for the bad grammar.**

* * *

An insistent hooting awoke me the following morning. Groaning on my pillow, I turned to face the annoying bird perched cheerfully on my bedside.

"I thought I got rid of you," I hissed, my eye twitching. Caleb stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes, and hooted softly.

"No," I moaned, rolling over and covered my head with the pillow. He and I didn't see eye to eye much, but I had a soft spot for him. In fact, Caleb was more attached to Marie than me, so that actually explained his presence on the dormitory. This was a scheme of hers, possibly to annoy me, or to wake me up here in the castle like she did in the Orphanage.

I pushed out of bed and went directly to the bathroom. A shower later, I realized as I changed into the Hogwarts uniform that it was six on the morning: I still had two hours before classes began.

In the end, I decided to take a stroll around the Black Lake. As I walked down the moving stairs, many portraits shouted their greetings when others saluted or tipped their hats: little girls curtsied and women with outlandish dresses nodded, fanning their necks and holding themselves regally. I was no stranger to the various forms of greeting as I was used to getting their attention, more often than I wished despite their friendly manners. I wasn't sure who was the one who started it (I bet everything it was Colin Creepy) but rumors about my adventures with the trio spread, all down from when we fought a troll to when Harry fought the Dementors last year. Only but a few students did believe it, but the portraits knew better. Because I didn't ignore them like Hermione, Harry, and Ron did, I was soon on their sights, and asked (some demanded) for information. It actually worked both ways; they were the best source of information I've had during Riddle's time.

The sky was dreadfully grey, not a single cloud on sight, and the grounds were still damp. The castle looked like it'd barely survived through a storm, though it hadn't changed at all. Peering back, I hesitantly pulled out the two pieces of toast I had snatched from the Great Hall. Removing the napkin, I placed them on the grass and made sure they were at the edge of the lake, and took a few steps back as a long tentacle rose from the water. The Giant Squid groped at the grass before it finally found the food and took it with him into the water.

I watched as the water rippled, smiling, and went back to the castle, stretching my arms on the air with a sigh. By this time, the Great Hall had filled greatly, though all of them seemed gloomy, matching the weather. A few seats away, the Weasley twins and their friend, Lee Jordan, were talking loudly about sneaking themselves into the tournament. Each idea was just as ridiculous as the last one but they didn't seem deterred at all. Shaking my head, I served myself bacon with scrambled eggs.

Just as I started to pour pumpkin juice on a cup, I saw Marie approach.

"Hello," I said, not looking up from my task.

"Hi. How was your morning?"

I didn't take her bait. "Good. Thanks for the new alarm. It was very adorable by the way, though a bit loud."

"I knew you would appreciate it," she said, amused. It was then that I noticed the person standing behind her. "I found Dennis here talking to a door," Marie explained.

"I wouldn't blame him," I said, remembering my first week on the castle. "Hello."

"You're Anya Barton," said Dennis. He was quivering. I nodded, my lips twitching.

"Yes... I know I am."

"You're friend of Harry Potter."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Are you two dating?" he asked, looking curious.

Not faced in the slightest, I lowered my fork and tossed it on the table. "What have you been saying this morning, Marie?" I asked, annoyed.

Her brows arched. "Nothing."

I rolled my eyes. "For God's sake, you need to stop saying that. We're not in St. Louise's anymore, whatever you say will be taken seriously."

"You never deny it!" she said defensively. I let out a breath.

"I don't deny it 'cause its not true. _I am not dating Harry Potter_. Now," I pointed the fork in Dennis' way, who'd been watching us, awestruck, "this conversation never happened. Understood?"

He nodded eagerly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Get out of my sight."

Just as I expected, Marie plopped down beside Dennis a few seats away.

"Shouldn't she be sitting with her Housemates?" Harry asked as he sat across from me, Ron drawing a chair on his side. On my left, Hermione was holding our schedules and I waved my fingers on her face. Rolling her eyes, she handed my parchment first.

"Thanks," I sang, and looked down at today's classes. "I don't think she wants to. She's got Dennis," Harry looked over where they sat, obviously worried. "Don't worry, she doesn't like to gossip about the life of Harry Potter." Except for his non-existent love life.

"Hullo," said Neville, plopping down on my right.

"Today's not bad… outside all morning," said Ron, running down a finger on his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures… damn it, we're still with the Slytherins…"

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned. I snorted a laugh. I wondered for a moment if Trelawney would predict his death this year, or better yet, if she would keep trying to predict mine.

"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."

"You're eating again, I notice," said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too.

"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," said Hermione haughtily.

"Yeah… and you were hungry," said Ron, grinning.

There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville and deposited a parcel into his lap.

"Must have forgotten something," he sighed.

* * *

Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures flew by, and I was glad we were soon on the Great Hall. The temperature changed, becoming warmer even though there was not sign of the sun, and within minutes I was starting to feel dizzy. Professor Sprout had excused me from class before I could pass out, and on Hagrid's, I wasn't able to get a good showdown with Malfoy or actually get a hold on one of the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Even right now, I was still leaning heavily on Neville's shoulder. I was sure I wasn't sick but the abrupt change on the air must have affected my system or something.

Neville meanwhile was looking at Hermione, hesitant. I didn't blame him: she was swallowing down every plate of food she grasped without a pause. "Uh, Hermione?" She waved her hand to let him know she was listening. "Are you alright?"

"Why shouldn't I?" she spat through a mouthful of mashed potato. Somehow, she managed to still look dignified.

"Er - is this the new stand on elf rights?" said Ron. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"No. I just want to get to the library."

"What?" said Ron in disbelief. "Hermione - it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"

Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, "See you at dinner!" and departed at high speed.

As we stared after her, I lifted my head and slurred, "Would it be strange to say that I found that hot?"

"Yes," the three boys chorused.

* * *

"Oh god, kill me now," I moaned, slamming my head down on the table.

"Don't do that," Neville scolded. He grabbed my forehead and lifted my head slightly, placing my Divination book under and let go gently.

"I'm seeing something, Neville," I muttered. "I'm seeing myself intoxicated by the incense."

He looked at the ceiling, coughing slightly. "Its not that bad..."

"Speak for yourself," I said bitterly, closing my eyes.

"Potter!" Trelawney barked.

"What?" he looked around, wiping at his chin.

"I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn," said Professor Trelawney, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the fact that he had obviously not been hanging on her words.

"Born under - what, sorry?"

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" said Professor Trelawney, sounding definitely irritated that he wasn't riveted by this news. "I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth… Your dark hair… your mean stature… tragic losses so young in life… I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"

"No," said Harry, "I was born in July."

I shook my head, hiding back on my arms. Neville didn't bother to scold me, either.

Half an hour later, each of us had been given a complicated circular chart, and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at our moment of birth.

"I've got Saturn and… the Sun? Is that even possible?" Neville wondered.

"Its Divination, Neville. Nothing that she -" I pointed at Trelawney "- says makes any sense at all. But if you want me to, I can't help you find what it means."

Neville nodded and I started to search the list of planets, doing some calculations before I gave him the absolute answer.

"Okay, Saturn, lets see... doubles as a symbol for lead. Philosophical alchemy explains lead is a component of transformation brought about from hardening, strengthening and staunch willpower. And as for the Sun... symbolic of the Self that is expressed outwardly - the self that shines openly to our friends, family, co-workers, etc. The sun position at our time of birth gives special illumination as to our characteristics. It's as if the sun shines upon our symbolic selves and makes us most visible to the world."

Neville blinked. "I didn't understood half of the things you just said," he said.

I looked at him suspiciously. It was quite obvious what it meant, but it was him who had to accept the fact that even the dumb book was telling him he wa much more than a scaredy cat.

Resigned, I began to read my own planet, which was a pair of Pluto's.

_Pluto. Deep, dark, mysterious, unknown... Pluto manages a domain completely hidden from our common reality and physical sight. Yet, there is tremendous activity in the underworld. It's hustle and bustle is felt in the physical as all things (seen and unseen) are infinitely connected. Massive transition, renewal, or a significant change from one form to another. These drastic changes and metamorphosis' will take place over a long period of time, as this is the nature of the outer planetary orbit (transformation on a generational scale)._

Drastic changes, transition... yes, I obviously could relate to that.

"Aaaaah," I heard Ron trying imitate Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, "when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry..."

Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals of Lavender Brown - "Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unexpected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"

"It is Uranus, my dear," Professor Trelawney said, peering down at the chart.

"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" Ron said.

* * *

"Miserable old bat," said Ron bitterly as we joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will…"

"If only could you'd kept your mouth shut," I hissed, glaring at him.

"Lots of homework?" said Hermione brightly, catching up. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!"

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," said Ron moodily.

We reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. We had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind us.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"

We turned around. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.

"What?" said Ron shortly.

"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear.

"Listen to this!

_**FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**_

_It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."_

Malfoy looked up.

"Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crowed. Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on:

_Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene._

"And there's a picture, Weasley!" said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," Harry snarled. "C'mon, Ron…"

"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"

"You know your mother, Malfoy?" said Harry - both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy - "that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

I pulled out my wand and silently waited for the outcome.

"Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter!"

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," said Harry, turning away.

_Big mistake._

Malfoy pulled out his wand, pointed it at Harry but was not quick enough - I was already cursing him before he could open his mouth. Both spells met - BANG! - and ricocheted to the walls. Several people screamed and I silently moved as it bounced back to us, except there was another BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance halls. It send chills down my back.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

I didn't turn around to look at Moody. The hand that wasn't holding my wand shook slightly as I looked at the ferret at the end of the marble staircase. I was sure it was Malfoy, the bastard who always stalked us whatever chance he had, and he was cowering as we all watched him, not moving to help him.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor," Moody grunted. I hadn't realized he had stopped at my side. "Good aim, Barton."

"Thanks, sir," I whispered. I hastily tucked my wand and took a step back. Neville - I was sure it was him, his hand was always warm - grasped my shoulder comfortingly.

Moody turned to Harry. "Did he get you?" he asked in a growl.

"No, missed."

"Thought so - LEAVE IT!"

"Leave - what?"

"Not you, HIM!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed Moody's fake eye was more than an ornament, and actually could see out of the back of his head.

Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again - it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…"

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. "Never - do - that - again -" said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again.

"Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice.

Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

"What - what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.

"Teaching," said Moody.

"Teach - Moody, is that a student?" shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

"Yep," said Moody.

"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall wealdy. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, looking like a sheepish ugly puppy, "but I thought a good sharp shock -"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.

"Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy… You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son… you tell him that from me… Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," said Malfoy resentfully.

"Another old friend," growled Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… Come on, you…"

And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly us as we sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened.

"Why not?" said Hermione in surprise.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret."

I looked at him in exasperation.


	12. Instincts

"Neville, take deep breaths," I said. "In and out, in and out -"

He shook his head, taking huge gulps of air but

"No, not like that, you ninny! You'll only suffocate!"

I was shoved aside by Hermione, whose expression said everything: I wasn't helping at all. But then again, she should know better than ask me for help when I was in one of my moods. Neville was smart enough to not bother me - still, I would have helped him quietly if Hermione hadn't interfered.

"Neville, would you like me to help you remove...?" she gestured at his hands.

As for the irritation, I wasn't the only one who displayed it - or tried to be discreet about it. Professor Snape had reached a new level of vindictiveness over the summer and his patience wore quickly than mine: he was the reason why Neville was in such a state to the point he returned to the common room, shaking, and looking like he was about to have a nervous collapse. The dungeon bat had made him disembowel a barrel full of horned toads, and though he said he tried, Neville failed to remove all the frog bits under his nails.

"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" Ron asked as I joined him and Harry.

"Yeah, Moody."

"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of Moody, you know," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Who in their right mind wouldn't be?" I muttered. Hermione was moving her wand over Neville's hands. "Last day he managed to scare a class full of first years with his yelling of 'constant vigilance'. Its okay to be wary but he seems to take that to a whole new level of paranoia."

"Yeah," said Ron. "But think of it! Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a toad and bounced him all around his dungeon..." his eyes misted. "Up and down, side to side..."

"That's sick, Ron," I said, scrunching my nose.

"Anne, don't ruin it!" he groaned.

I shook my head. He was not the only one who wished Snape was cursed by Moody, but I couldn't but remember the manic glee the ex-Auror expressed when he 'punished' Malfoy. The man liked to be in control, that was quite obvious, and something in my gut told me I had to be wary of him. Even Snape did the impossible to never be on his presence by more than a few seconds.

"Why couldn't Mary -"

"Mah - ri - eh," I corrected.

Ron waved his hand impatiently. "Yeah, well, why couldn't she tell us what Moody did on her class?"

I averted my eyes. "It probably was different from what he will teach us," I said, crossing my arms and leaned my hip on the table.

I didn't want to tell them about Marie's ability to feel emotions but it was proving to be a big deal than I imagined. The first year Ravenclaws had their DADA class on Wednesday, and the first thing he told them was about the dangers Death Eaters had brought upon the Wizarding World, giving a very exact description of their deeds and proceeded to explain about basic dark creatures like Imps. At first glance, it seemed she had exagerated but Marie was obviously disturbed. As much as I asked her what was wrong, she refused to answer and instead changed the subject.

In my opinion, it looked like Marie wasn't sure of what to make of Alastor Moody, and was scared that for once, her Empathy had failed.

* * *

The dull _clung clung_ echoed in the room as Moody limped over his desk.

"You can put those away," he growled, sitting down, "those books, you won't need them."

Moody took out a register and began to call names, his blue eye swiveling on each student as she or he answered. When he finished, he stood and to my surprise, took a small piece of chalk.

"Alastor Moody," he wrote. He slammed the chalk down on his desk, turning back to stare down at us with his fake and regular eyes. "Ex-Auror. Ministry malcontent, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. End of story, _goodbye_, the end! Any questions?"

"Right then," he said, when no one spoke, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses," Moody said. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark -"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out.

Moody's fake eye fixed on Ron, and a slow smile twitched on his lips. I was tempted to ask when would he leave.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago… Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore… One year, and then back to my quiet retirement." He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

"So - straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a high opinion on your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender jumped and blushed. She hastily threw what looked like a copy of Witch Weekly inside her bag.

"No way!" Seamus Finnigan said. "The old codger can see out of the back of his head!"

"And hear across classrooms!" said Moody, throwing his piece of chalk across the room. "So! Do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye kept moving between Lavender and Seamus.

"Er, my dad told me about one..." said Ron, glancing furtively on my way. "Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

I tensed.

"Ah, yes," Moody said appreciatively. "Your father _would_ know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. I recoiled slightly - I have a strong dislike for spiders. Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that the class could see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "_Imperio_!"

The spider leapt from his hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing back and forth as if it were a trapeze artist: it stretched out its legs, forcefully, then did a back flip, landing on the desk where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs, and began to tap dance.

Everyone around me was laughing - even Neville, on my right, was giving a few chuckles at the sight. I leaned back, swallowing, and looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the demonstration to end.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Moody growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The laughter died away almost instantly. I lowered my eyes. My hand was tightening against my side, a habit that I gained at the beginning of the third year, shortly after having met the Dementors.

"Total control," he continued quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats…"

I forced myself to look at Moody without disgust.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

As usual, Hermione's hand flew into the air, looking slightly paler. To my surprise, so did Neville's, who gave a small gasp at his own daring. Nonetheless, his hand stayed on the air.

"Yes?" said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

"There's one - the Cruciatus Curse," said Neville in a small but distinct voice.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Moody said. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "_Engorgio_!"

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Just as Moody pointed his wand at the spider, I pushed my chair backward.

"Crucio," he muttered and the spider began to twist, twitching horribly as it bent at odd angles.

"Oh, god," I gasped. For some reason I was unable to look away, as much as I wanted to. I remembered the nightmares, when I was running through a dark forest, and the mad cackle of Bellatrix rang in my ears, followed by the shouts of mercy from a woman... my father, falling down, the almost perfect copy of Tom Riddle's face staring at me through empty, lifeless eyes...

"STOP IT!" I screeched. "STOP IT!"

I kicked the desk, jumping to my feet and my hand tightened on my side. I bit my lip, hard, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I was breathing hard, I realized, and I had drawn attention to myself. My eyes traveled nervously from side to side: on my left, the trio stared at me, looking horrified; to my right, others were staring at the spider with morbid fascination. And Neville? He was staring in horror at the spider, wide eyed, his knuckles white from clenching his hands. I wasn't sure which of the two of us was taking it worse.

"Didn't you hear her? Stop it!" I heard Hermione yell shrilly. "_Can't you see its bothering them_?"

Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

"Reducio," Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

"Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse… That one was very popular once too. Right... anyone know any others?"

No one spoke nor move.

"Perhaps," Moody started, "perhaps you could give us the answer, Miss Barton."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. I mouthed several times until I finally managed to get the words without breaking down in tears.

"Av - Avada Kedabra," I said, blinking.

"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra… _the Killing Curse_."

I noticed that the students looked suddenly uneasy.

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Moody raised his wand and I closed my eyes -

"Avada Kedabra!" he roared, and there was a flash of green light behind my eyelids.

When I opened my eyes, I saw several students stifling their cries of shock: Ron had thrown himself away from the chair, as the spider had landed on his and Harry's desk.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."

He leaned forward, staring down at Harry, whose gaze remained fixed on the blackboard.

* * *

"Did you see it twitch?"

"- and when he killed it – just like that!"

I was the first one to get out of the classroom. Half-running, half-walking, I dodged past students, not offering apologies when I shoved someone unintentionally. At the moment it seemed to be a huge task I couldn't perform.

I stopped running at the turn. I slackened as I reached the stairs and grasped the railing with both hands,taking deep breaths as my head hung low, my chin touching my collarbone. Breathing through the nose hurt a lot but I couldn't stop it. A hand suddenly shot from my right and grasped my wrist.

"Holy," I started and looked up in shock at Neville. "Could've used a warning," I said, halfheartedly meaning it.

"You alright?"

I gave a short laugh. I was still giving labored breaths. "I - I should be - the one asking, not -"

"You're having a panic attack," he said. "Take my hand."

I quickly let go of the railing and his hand found mine, intertwining our fingers together. I wondered for a moment what was the use of this until I realized he was breathing hard too. Neville stared at the wall across from the railing with the same horrified look he had when Mad-Eye did the Cruciatus Curse. I did everything I could to slow down my beating heart an stared at him for a moment.

I had no right to ask him. I had secrets and so did he but at the moment, it looked like it was something much more - so obvious and yet, so far of reach. There was something familiar on Neville, something I didn't want to acknowledge. But the proof was back there, in that gloomy classroom with the spiders.

I braced myself for what I was about to do. I looked away and closed my eyes.

"You have your mother's face."

There was nothing but silence. I had finally relaxed enough to talk properly.

Then out of nowhere, Neville said, more quietly, "And those eyes are not yours."

I squelched the want to look at him. "Oh."

"Yeah," he repeated, monotonously. "Oh."

"Neville? Anya?"

I looked around. Hermione hasn't called me Anya since she met me. Even then, I only had introduced myself and she had taken the liberty of calling me Annie. But when I saw her, I kind of understood why she had called me rightly by name. She looked worried, and Harry and Ron were behind her, eyeing us like if they were waiting for us to jump at them.

"Hey," I said, breathily.

"Oh hello," said Neville, very much in the same way as I did. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm - I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Are you two alright?"

"Something like that," I muttered, looking over her shoulder. I didn't need a mirror to know I was probably scowling.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. "Very interesting dinner - I mean lesson - what's for eating?"

"Neville, what -?"

But then, Mad-Eye Moody spoke from behind them.

"Sonny, you all right?" he asked. Neville nodded. "What about you, lass?" his magical eye turned to me.

I nodded, pinching my hand to prevent from snapping at him.

"Alright then. Why don't you two come up to my office? Come on... we can have a cup of tea..."

_ The hell I won't_, I thought viciously. However, it seemed there was no way out and I definitely wasn't going to leave Neville alone with him.

"You all right, are you, Potter?"

Harry surprisingly snapped, "Yes."

"You've got to know," Moody said. His fake eye surveyed Harry, up and down. "It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending… well… come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you. You too, Barton."

Gritting my teeth, I started after him. Neville caught up with us a few moments later, panting.

Students gaped openly as we walked behind Moody. I didn't blame them: I was downright furious with him, and Neville covering behind us didn't help much to the situation. I dreaded to think of the reason Moody was dragging us to his office, what if he asked us why we reacted like that? There was a good chance Dumbledore had told him of what happened the last two years, including my involvement with Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, after all, he'd been called as a security measure, I was sure.

But Neville, I couldn't find any way out for him. We were thoroughly screwed, I realized now.

With something akin to reluctance at the face Neville made, I was the first to enter after Mad-Eye.

The office had been occupied by three previous teachers: Quirinus Quirrell, Gilderoy Lockhart, and Remus Lupin. I never saw how Quirrell had decorated it on his time. My best guess? Garlic probably hung from the ceiling in hopes of continuing his charade as a cowardly stutterer. During Lockhart's time, the walls had been covered by self-portraits of magazines and paintings. And Lupin was far more humble than the last two, his office had been bare except for the desk and the occasional creature that awaited to be introduced for class.

But Mad-Eye made the office look like a war campaign. It was a mess, little things dinging on the floor and a Sneakoscope was spinning loudly on his desk. Across the room, there was a mirror, however, it didn't reflect anything more than moving shadows. In the corner on a small table was something that resembled a round golden mirror. It was humming slightly.

Mad-Eye gave a loud sigh and sat down behind his desk, and to my surprise, he started to pull off at his leg.

On the corner, was another big mirror. It extraordinarily caught every detail of the room.

"Foe-Glass," said Moddy gruffly. He put the wooden stick that replaced his leg on the desk. "Lets me keep an eye on my enemies; if I can see the whites of their eyes, they're right behind me." He laughed, but his normal eye kept shooting glances at it whilst he stared at us with his blue electric eye.

Then Neville jumped and latched onto my back, making me whirl and point my wand at what he was staring. It was a normal looking chest, rattling wildly. There was a loud scream and I realized it came from it.

"What the hell is in there?" I asked absently.

"If I told you two, you wouldn't believe me, so I won't bother," said Mad-Eye. Try me. "Take a seat and put that wand away, Barton. Better you don't blow something up."

Sighing loudly - yes, I wanted him to be aware of my discomfort-, I sat on a nearby barrel letting Neville take the chair. He was pale and hadn't spoken a word, I didn't want him to have another episode like the one with Snape.

"Here," Mad-Eye pushed two cups of something toward us. Neville took it with shaking hands and stared at it nervously; I took it with one hand and looked at it disdainfully, carefully placing the cup on the desk.

Moody didn't seem bothered by it; in fact, a smirk tugged at his lips. He surprised me again when he said something that had nothing to do from what I originally thought.

"Professor Sprout tells me you've an aptitude for Herbology, Longbottom," he said.

Neville mumbled something and lifted his cup to his mouth, but didn't clarify anything. The "Yes, sir," he threw sounded more like a question, and I honestly considered it barely covered his natural ability for Herbology. The conversation was already awkward without even having started.

"And what's your thing, Barton?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Little bit of everything. That's it, except Herbology," I said, smirking, "Neville here's been saving me from failing the class."

"I saw what you did with the Malfoy brat," he muttered, scratching his chin absently as he stared at me, "you handled it nicely. Bit flashy, but you handled it."

He looked between us.

"Huh," he said at last, after a long lapse of silence. "You two are like your old men. Except, your father was bonkers, Barton. The man nearly scared the socks out of me with his ideas." Moody smirked.

I bit my lip. Of course he knew my father, meaning he had been an Auror, though I wasn't quite sure if I'd heard this before.

The conversation then changed from there, and soon, I grudgingly found myself paying rapt attention as Mad-Eye spoke of a few of his experiences. But then I saw Neville's face - he was crying. Moody noticed too, but he didn't rat him out. Instead, he continued talking, but more calmly and made a hanky appear out of thin air. And as Neville tried to discretly clean his face and runny nose, I saw something on the ex-Auror's face twist, and it worried me a lot more than it should. Was it normal for a teacher to look so incredibly guilty when glancing at a student? Or most important, what exactly was the reason that Mad-Eye looked at Neville like if he had met him before... or why he kept shooting me these small glances, as if he was aware of my existence but was trying to ignore it?

* * *

"Is she alive?" I heard Ron murmur faintly.

Harry - 'cause wherever Ron was so did wonder boy - didn't respond. Instead, I felt the couch sink on my left and with opening my eyes, I knew Harry was looking at me carefully with his green eyes, so green and transfixing that they were like open windows. I dared not to look at him and remained silent. Maybe if I feigned that I was asleep, he would go away; I didn't want him nor Ron to ask me about today's DADA class.

Thankfully, my plan worked, and Harry stood with a sigh. It only lasted a few moments however, and the couch sank again with his weight.

* * *

Harry ignored Ron's meaningful glances as he awkwardly tried to adjust on the couch. He would have loved to work on the table where he was sure his homework wouldn't look like funny doodles except he couldn't help but want to make sure Anya was alright.

Despite what everyone thought, Harry knew Anya pretty well by now to know when she was trying to escape from uncomfortable situations. After all, he had spent two summers with her and _had_ to learn something from her, like the little quirks that made her _her_. Like when she was angry, her left eye usually twitched, or when bored she taps two fingers against her leg, or even when worried, she tried to cover it with light sarcasm. Right now, she wasn't talking to them and, surprisingly, hadn't escaped as soon as she heard them.

He was sure whatever made her lose her control in Moody's lesson had to be shocking enough to make her show any kind of 'weakness'. Harry wasn't sure how that worked - whenever she was involved, he always ended with a small headache and was left frustrated -, but just as he had a hero complex - yes, he acknowledges he has one, but only to himself! - she was determined to act as if nothing affected her. He often wondered why she did that, and had been hurt in the beginning but Harry realized it was her way to deal with their lives, from their first time confronting Voldemort to dealing with Tom Riddle's diary and her apparent issues with the Dementors. She was coping in her odd way of thinking, the only one she knew about.

Their third year hadn't been the easiest, not only because they thought Sirius was after him and the Dementors were in Hogwarts, but because he and Ron and Hermione didn't know how to treat her. She was a very delicate person to deal with: if you did not approach with precaution there was a high chance of blowing up. And because of that, she drifted away from them, enough that they weren't as close as before. Still friends but lacking that certain spark that had united them on the first place. Harry often wished another teacher would set off a troll on Hogwarts to see if everything would return to normal.

And there was Neville too.

Harry would never admit it, _never_, but he was slightly annoyed with the plump boy's closeness to Anya. Really, since when were the two of them close? It shouldn't bother him this much but she was more open when Neville was around, so why couldn't she just easily be like that around them?

He looked over at her. She was leaning heavily on the couch's armrest and her head hung back tiredly. He could easily spot tear lines on her cheeks.

Maybe he should just give it time. She'd asked for it the last time they spoke privately and he'd agreed.

Ron threw a bean at him but Harry dodged it. The redhead shot at him a look and turned his pointed stare at Anya, wiggling his eyebrows in an almost comical way. Harry shook his head and looked down at his homework. He was nowhere close to finishing the problem.

* * *

For a while, I heard nothing but the frustrated sighs coming from across and the steady breaths on my left. But there was a small noise of wood hitting wood, and I heard Ron speak.

"You know, I think its back to the old Divination standby."

"What, make it up?"

"Yeah," there was some ruffle of notes. Ron cleared his throat, "Next Monday I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter. You know her - just put in loads of misery, she'll lap it up."

"Right," said Harry. "Okay… on Monday, I will be in danger of- er - burns."

"Yeah, you will be," said Ron darkly, "we're seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, I'll… erm…"

"Lose a treasured possession."

"Good one," said Ron. "Because of… erm… Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?"

"Yeah… cool…" said Harry, "because… Venus is in the twelfth house."

"And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worst in a fight."

"Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet."

"Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight…"

As time passed, the more ridiculous their predictions turned. At some point, Crookshanks joined us and jumped on my lap, purring contentedly when I slowly started to scratch his ears. The action went unnoticed by Harry and Ron as they argued whether should they mention a dragon on their notes or not.

Minutes later, I heard the portrait open.

"Hello," it was Hermione, "I've just finished!"

"So have I!" Ron exclaimed, and then, I felt something land on my forehead. Making a face, I opened my eyes and scowled.

"Little bit to the north and it would've been bullseye," I said.

Ron smiled nervously and shrugged. Crookshanks stretched from head to his bushy tail and bounced over to Hermione's lap.

"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" she said sardonically. She had Ron's predictions on her hands.

"Ah well, at least I'm forewarned," Ron said, yawning.

Her eyebrows arched. "You seem to be drowning twice," Hermione commented.

Ron peered down at his predictions. "Oh am I? I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff."

"Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?" Hermione said.

"How dare you!" Ron said in mock outrage. "We've been working like house-elves here!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"It's just an expression," Ron said quickly.

I looked at Harry's sheet, sighing loudly as I caught sight of his death by decapitation comment.

"You two are unbelievable," I muttered, glancing between the two.

Harry rolled his eyes before he looked at Hermione. He pointed at the box in her hands. "What's in the box?"

"Funny you should ask," Hermione said, throwing a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed us the contents.

I raised an eyebrow, "Badges?" and took one of them, noticing that all of them had the same letters: S.P.E.W. "What for?"

"Spew?" Harry said and picked one of the badges. "What's this about?"

Hermione scowled and said, impatient, "Not spew! It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

Automatically, I let out a frustrated groan. It wasn't the first time I'd deal with this: Hermione had been planning through the night, causing all the girls to get annoyed at her loudness, ways to free the House Elves from Hogwarts ever since the first day we returned. I thought the same as her, just to a certain point - they deserved to have a decent and fair treatment, but if they wanted to, they could still be working for their masters as long as they got paid in some way. I wasn't sure how the lot of them were like but according to Harry, they actually loved being submissive. Hermione was the smartest person I've ever met, but she had a thick skull when it came to this: the fact didn't seem to register on her.

"Never heard of it," Ron commented.

"Well, of course you haven't," Hermione said briskly, "I've only just started it."

"Yeah? And how many members have you got?"

"Well," she bit her lip, "if you three join, four."

Ron waved one of the badges. "And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying 'spew,' do you?"

"S-P-E-W!" Hermione said hotly. "I was going to put _Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status_ - but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto."

She brandished the sheaf of parchment at us.

"I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."

"Hermione - open your ears," said Ron loudly. "They. Like. It. They _like_ being enslaved!"

"Our short-term aims," Hermione said, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn't heard a word, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented."

"And how do we do all this?" Harry asked.

"We start by recruiting members," Hermione said happily. "I thought two Sickles to join - that buys a badge - and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron - I've got you collecting tin upstairs - and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting. As fr you, Annie, you're Vice President. You help me recruiting, organizing meetings and making important decisions that can affect our organization."

She looked at us a bit breathlessly, but proud. I didn't have the heart to the hell the project was doomed before it could even start.

There was a soft tap, tap coming from the window and Harry looked over.

"Hedwig!" he shouted, and launched himself out of his chair and across the room to pull open the window.

Hedwig flew inside, soared across the room and landed on top of Harry's predictions.

"About time!" said Harry , hurrying back over.

Ron pointed at the letter tied around Hedwig' leg. "She's got an answer!"

Harry hastily untied it and sat down to read, whereupon Hedwig fluttered onto his knee, hooting softly.

"So, what does it say?" I asked, staring at him impatiently.

Harry started aloud:

_Harry-_

_I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a_ _series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to_ _Dumbledore - they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's_ _reading the signs, even if no one else is._

_I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Tell Anya to not ignore any detail and if possible, write it down. Both of you, keep your eyes open._

_Sirius_

I tapped my chin, meeting Harry's eyes thoughtfully.

"He's flying north?" Hermione whispered. "He's coming back?"

"Dumbledore's reading what signs?" said Ron, looking perplexed. Harry suddenly hit himself on the forehead with a frustrated shout. "Harry – what's up?"

"I shouldn't've told him!" Harry said furiously.

My eyes widened but narrowed on him quickly. "What?"

"What are you on about?" Ron asked too.

"It's made him think he's got to come back!" Harry said as he slammed his fist on the table so that Hedwig landed on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly.

"Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you," Harry snapped at Hedwig, who was clicking her beak expectantly, "you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food."

Hedwig gave him an extremely offended look and took off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she went.

"You shouldn't have treated her that way," I said. "Hedwig was just hungry."

"Didn't you listen what I just said?" Harry exclaimed.

I pursued my lips, annoyed. "'course I did. And I think all of what you said was rubbish. Sirius is right, Harry, something is going on and it has to do with you, Its not a coincidence your scar hurts before the Death Eaters attacked back in the World Cup and Dumbledore knows it, too."

Harry glared at me heatedly. "Don't you care what happens to Sirius? What if they catch him?!" he demanded.

"Sirius is a grown man," I said calmly. "He knows what to do and what the risks are. I think what he's doing is rash, coming back when Hogwarts will be on the spotlight, but we can't do anything about it. He must be already halfway to Scotland."

"I'm going to bed," Harry said and stood abruptly. He looked at anywhere but my eyes. "See you in the morning."

"Don't talk to him," I told Ron once Harry was out of sight. "He needs to cool off right now. By tomorrow, he will have to accept it."

The redhead nodded and went up to the boys' dormitories.

Hermione looked at me worriedly. "He will try to convince Sirius to not come back," she said.

"I know. But Sirius knows that too."

* * *

Neville lay staring at the dark canopy of his bed when the door of the dormitory banged open and Harry entered, looking angry and started to put on his pajamas. He listened silently at all the tiny noises his roommate made, like the tiny puffs of air he let out and when his bed groaned at the weight of Harry's body. Ron came moments later, and from the corner of his eye, Neville noticed he looked troubled. He was less noise as he changed, but he kept shooting small glances at Harry's bed. He wondered for a moment what happened and if Anya would tell him tomorrow, and quickly remembered what had been troubling him all day.

He was not alright. He thought he wouldn't deal with it at Hogwarts and certainly not in public, but finally he had witnessed how his parents ended in St. Mungos.

The offspring of wizards were different from those of Muggles: because of their ability to learn Occlumensy at some point in adulthood, wizards could remember everything from the age of five and onward, and sometimes, they could even remember from before. It was rare and not entirely accurate but the memories were always there, only not within reach. And the first memory that came from Neville's life as a toddler was a church.

His Gran eventually told him why the first thing that came at memory when his parents were mentioned was a religious Muggle building. They had been in hiding because Dumbledore feared they still were on top of the Death Eaters' list, even after Voldemort had been defeated, and Frank Longbottom's Auror training kicked in and he and his wife, along with their son, had disappeared off radar for a while. Not only that, but a close friend of his father had gone with them.

The man's name had been Alexander Barton.

Neville didn't hear of that name for a while until he and his Gran met Thea Rosenberg outside of Flourish and Blotts. They had been buying for his school equipment and eleven year-old Neville worried when his Gran suddenly gasped, looking at a woman as if she were a ghost. Later on second year, he would understand the woman should be anything but alive.

Thea Rosenberg was a very pretty woman with long red hair tied neatly into a bun, the several look on her face didn't even affect her beauty much. Neville's Gran had demanded what she was doing out in public, and with an apologetic look, she pointed to the back of the store. A little girl, shorter than Neville, was staring at the ceiling where a few books were floating and Neville thought she was a Muggleborn. She was really pretty, he'd thought as he turned red, her hair was long and her eyes, a mix of brown and green, stared captivated at the whole new world that was the Wizarding World.

Later, his Gran told him who she was. But that was until before the beginning of Third Year. By that time, his crush on Anya Barton had been brushed aside and instead he was trying to focus on being her friend while not turning into a stuttering idiot, and to also not ask about what happened with the Chamber of Secrets. He only knew that she and Harry and Ron had done something to stop the Heir of Slytherin, but the whole ordeal had done a number on Anya and her friends (were they, really? He'd always wonder since the rain train when Harry, Hermione, and Ron, did not go after her when the Dementors got off the train) didn't look as affected as her, except for the few times he glimpsed a shadow crossing Hermione's face and then it was like if nothing had changed.

He knew she didn't tell him everything. As much as she claimed he was her best friend, Anya Barton kept secrets from him. Then again, so did Neville Longbottom. Today he had given her a clue, a trail to follow; not only he knew how the Cruciatus Curse worked but he had been there when her father died. Anya obviously remembered something, if the 'you have your mother's face' comment was anything to go by.

They were sure going to talk about it at some point, and Neville wasn't sure if he was ready. Being best friends with the girl you fancied had its advantages and, like him, Neville was absolutely sure she wasn't ready to have that conversation yet. Maybe they would never be and he was okay with it. But he knew that sooner or later, it would have to happen.

* * *

**I just discovered that when I'm completely angry, writing turns something natural while you're at it. R & R, and remember, the poll for the Yule Ball is still open.**

**Next: the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive at Hogwarts. You know what it means. *squeals excitedly***


	13. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

Life isn't fair, you realize, when one of your friends acts like a stubborn five year-old child.

Crossing my arms, I leaned against the wall and watched as Harry scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment. My comment from yesterday night didn't seem to have registered on him at all, and he was adamant to let Sirius return. It was pretty obvious to me that not even Dumbledore would able to dissuade Sirius from course; after all, the man was more thickheaded than Harry himself.

I barely held myself from sighing out loud when he left the common room. Why, I wondered again, did I had to have to deal with these kind of troubles too early in the morning?

I rubbed my eyes, and finally decided to go back to my dormitory.

* * *

Nothing exciting happened for the next two weeks. Anything, except for Harry giving me the cold shoulder.

At the beginning of the second week, I wished it was my only problem. Following his accurate interpretation of the Unforgivable Curses, Mad-Eye decided it was time we experienced it first-hand and learned how to block it, or at least, fight it.

"But - but you said it's illegal, Professor," Hermione stuttered as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. "You said - to use it against another human was -"

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," Moody said, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."

My jaw clenched and I fought the urge to walk away from the class. _It's not the first time_, I told myself repeatedly, _you already know how it feels like and how to dodge it a bit_.

But really, did Dumbledore really agreed with Moody's method of teaching?

I watched silently as each of my classmates were called and did the most bizarre things, and I knew that on some level all of them enjoyed it while it lasted. The Imperius Curse's main purpose was to confuse the bewitched, making him or her to believe what she was doing was the right thing - and not to forget, it also made you feel like the most powerful, if not, invincible wizard.

Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room while singing the national British Anthem. Lavender Brown, my nosey roommate, imitated very well the sound of a squirrel. And Neville had done some strange pirouettes, worthy of a professional gymnast (He was going to be sore by the end of the day). But none of them got to throw off the curse until Moody lifted it.

"Potter," Moody growled, "you next."

Harry moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, "_Imperio_!"

Whatever worry or fear Harry had obviously expressed dissipated on an instant; his face blanched and turned somewhat blank, and not to everyone's surprise, a silly grin took place, his head hanging to one side as he began to absently stare at the ceiling. I was a bit disappointed he couldn't immediately fight it but then again, Harry was not the perfect hero everyone mistook him to be.

But when he began to twirl a little on the spot, I worried he might start to _giggle_.

Moody was clearly thinking the same. He cleared his throat.

"Jump onto the desk," he said. "Jump onto the desk, Potter."

Harry bent his knees obediently, preparing to spring.

"Jump onto the desk," Moody repeated. Harry frowned and for a moment, I thought he was going to ask why. "_Jump onto the desk_."

Just when Harry hesitated, Moody growled, "Jump! NOW!", but to my surprise, Harry smashed headlong into the desk knocking it over, and groaned, holding his kneecaps. I was tempted to go over and help him, but then Moody's voice rang in the classroom and I stopped that trail of thought.

"Now, that's more like it! Look at that, you lot… Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention - watch his eyes, that's where you see it - very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"

Harry was Imperiused four more times until on the last try, he threw the curse off completely.

Next were Ron and Seamus, both of them paired as Moody made them talk like if they were some old ladies from the Victorian Era, giggling and actually gossiping about their Quidditch teams. It was disturbing to notice how similar they were to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil in that moment.

"Barton, your turn." I glared at him, but eventually sighed and moved around the pile of desks.

_Remember, don't fight it, tease it._

Once I walked in the middle of the room, Moody didn't stall and quickly pointed his wand at me, muttering, "_Imperio_."

The familiar pleasant sensation washed over my body and I gave a contented smile. I blinked owlishly at everyone and tilted my head. For a moment, I wondered if I forgot something, 'cause everyone was staring at me expectantly. Maybe I had to dance...

_Barton..._

Yes! That's me!

_Barton, tell us..._

Tell you what exactly?

_... tell us..._

Not if you don't tell me what you want me to tell you.

_... your biggest secret..._

Oh, that is easy. Except that I don't know, you know. I have a lot of them and all of them are very much precious to me, so...

_Tell us!_

And as I glanced around the classroom, my eyes connected with my friends. Neville, Hermione, Ron, and Harry, the four of them were looking at me with obvious concern. Even Harry seemed to had forgotten his anger at me, if only for a moment.

My mouth opened without my consent. "I..."

Don't hate me guys, please don't hate me!

"... am..."

Everything I've done was because of you, because I wanted you all safe, because I didn't want you to go!

They frowned and Hermione took a step closer, Ron grabbing her shoulder to hold her back. Their faces turned misty: huh... _I was tearing up_. When was the last time I cried?

I didn't tell you, I didn't tell you, and I won't, because I'm too -

I felt a lump in my throat. "... selfish..." I muttered, lowering my eyes.

That was the best word I could find and perfectly describe myself with, I supposed.

I wasn't sure if it was normal for us to stick together since we fought the troll in our first year but, I realized that as much as I loved to be with them I actually _needed_ to be with them. I wasn't - I couldn't actually see my life without Neville, Hermione, Harry, and even Ron, all because they made me feel safe, cause I was too dependent on them.

God, when did everything start falling apart? I took a long glance at them, and noticed, not for the first time, that everything wasn't the same since the end of Second year. All thanks to Riddle.

I was honestly scared of what they would think once I told them the truth. Neville was more neutral, but the others... sometimes, I just wanted it to be me and him, him and me, but Hermione had been right - I was using him as my support. I didn't even consider what he felt with the whole situation. But it was so easy to forget, to ignore that _not_ everything was right. Nothing was perfect in my little magical world; it was just as cruel and sad as the life I could've led in Little Whinging. Sometimes I wished, if only fleetingly, to have remained ignorant of heritage, and perhaps, maybe, I wouldn't be so... insecure.

That word always left behind a sour taste on my mouth, despite never having admitted it out loud.

"I am a selfish person."

Whether I wanted it or not, those four were my world now. There was no going back, and maybe, that's why I clung to them so fiercely.

I blinked, and turned to face Moody. I ignored the few snorts that rang around the classroom, focusing entirely on Mad-Eye.

"I am an utterly, selfish person," I repeated.

But, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ron... were they aware that if one day they found the right words, they could have the ability to break my heart?

* * *

There was an infinite increment of homework from the teachers, specially from Professor McGonagall, and surprisingly, Trelawney.

Though, when she started to read Harry's and Ron's predictions from the other night, I found out it was very interesting to hear the whole class gasp at their 'unflinching acceptance of the future', as the Professor put it. It was more so when Trelawney told the dynamic duo they had to do the same thing for the month after next.

Meanwhile, Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had us writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century; Snape, in all his slimy glory, put us to search antidotes for every kind of poison known, and we took it seriously, 'cause he hinted he might poison someone before Christmas (" - and it will be a pity if your antidote doesn't work," he had said, looking maliciously in Harry's direction); Professor Flitwick had put the easiest, I believed, as he only asked us to prepare ourselves for the next class in which he would talk about Summoning Charms.

Even Hagrid was starting to request more workload from our part; given that no one knew what exactly they ate, the Blast-Ended Skrewts were starting to grow at a disturbing pace. Hagrid was delighted by the news, and as part of the 'project', he suggested we should come to his hut to make notes on their extraordinary behavior. Malfoy was the first to refuse but Hagrid put him down by reminding him of Moody's punishment; if the peroxide blond hadn't tried to sack Hagrid last year, I would've been sympathetic to him.

It was that at the end of his class, the Entrance Hall crowded by students of different years, that we saw the big sign hanging at the foot of the marble staircase:

_**TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT **_

_THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING _  
_AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN _  
_HOUR EARLY - _  
_STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND_  
_ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE _  
_WELCOMING FEAST._

"Brilliant!" said Harry to my right. "It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!"

I let out a mall sigh and moved away, almost colliding with Ernie Macmillan.

"Oh, sorry Barton," he apologized. "I have to go and tell Cedric -"

"Cedric?" said Ron blankly.

"Diggory," said a familiar voice to my left. "I've heard he was interested on entering the tournament."

Ron snorted. "That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" Oddly enough, he was the only one who did not flinch when Marie made one of her silent entrances.

"He's not an idiot," said Hermione as we pushed through the crowd toward the staircase. "You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch. I've heard he's a really good student - _and_ he's a prefect."

She spoke as though this settled the matter.

"You only like him because he's _handsome_," Ron said scathingly.

"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!" Hermione said indignantly.

Marie looked at her curiously. "Doesn't Gilderoy Lockhart count, then?" she asked, in that detached way of hers.

Ron sniggered, and Hermione turned to me sharply: her face was beat red.

"What?" I backed, raising my hands.

"_You told her_?"

"No!" I said. Then, "But she must have read it from my journal."

"Anya!"

"But you have to admit it, Ron," I said, moving beside Neville so I was out of Hermione's reach, "Diggory does have more brain cells that Lockhart did."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "He could actually win the tournament."

Ron gave him a look that said 'not you too!', but otherwise didn't comment.

* * *

No matter to where I went, the topic of conversation always was the same.

The TriWizard tournament was famous , as I'd read, because of the dangers it presented to the challengers. I honestly wondered who would be brave enough to put their name in, but the rest of the student population seemed more interested in our rival schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, who were about to arrive soon.

The castle looked like it had been thoroughly cleaned; the armors suddenly were shining and did not squeak when they moved, and the portraits' faces were too red or pinkish from all the scrubbing Argus Filch had done to them. Not to forget, whenever someone forgot to clean their shoes or left a bit of dirt on the floor, he snapped and Filch looked so ferocious that he managed to scare some first-year girls into hysterics (I heard they stayed all day hiding in the Hospital Wing, and Poppy had seriously considered throwing them out to St. Mungos to see if they were not traumatized).

Even the teachers were on a state: poor Neville had gotten yelled at by McGonagall because he had switched his ears to a cactus.

When the thirtieth of October finally came, the Great Hall had been decorated by silk banners hanging above the table, each of them representing the Houses: red and gold, blue and bronze, yellow and black, and green with silver. And behind the staff's table, hung a large banner bearing the Hogwarts' crest: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

We were about to join the trio when Hermione suddenly lashed out and began to speak loudly, her voice echoing back to us despite her being close to the teachers' table and us standing near the double oak doors.

"Er -" Neville started, but then dragged me over to the closest seat. "Let's sit here! More comfy and - well, sunny?"

I glanced at the ceiling, which bathed the Great Hall in red and orange hues of sunlight, and then turned my gaze to the nearest window. It was downright gray, full of clouds.

"You know," I said dryly, "if you don't want to be near Hermione, just say it."

Neville sighed in relief.

"I still can feel her eyes on me," he complained. And to make sure, he peered at her sideways.

Hermione's sudden determination to pursue justice for house-elves was something I treated as more of a taboo; she constantly annoyed everyone by suddenly lashing and then asking to join her S.P.E.W. club, and to cool her down, I bullied Marie, who in turn bullied Dennis, to buy one of her badges. Neville had been caught unaware, her pestering annoyed him until he too began to ignore to her, but in the end, he paid the two Sickle badge to stop her from glowering. This only made her badger me to take a more active role as 'vice-president' of S.P.E.W. Because I both agreed and disagreed, I just decided to tun her out until she finished ranting.

I dragged a hand down my face.

"You're all turning me bonkers. Ah," I perked up at the sight of Hedwig soaring down, but was confused when she passed by Harry and instead, landed neatly in front of me. "Hello," I murmured, petting her snowy head with two fingers.

Hedwig cooed, folding her wings gently, and held out her leg. A muddy paw had been printed on one of the two scrolls she'd carried.

"You're still mad at Harry, then?"

Hedwig ruffled her wings, turning her head to the side. I grabbed a lot of bacon rinds and a small plate to pour water on.

"Eat," I said gently, "then go back to the Owlery. You deserve a very long rest."

I wearily glanced at the other side of the table. The trio was already looking back at me anxiously.

I sighed.

"Don't wait up," I told Neville. I waved one of the scrolls. "I'm going to the lion's den."

Neville didn't say anything, but his terrified expression clearly said 'better you than me'. I stood.

"About time," Harry complained, but before he could snatch his letter (mine was hidden on my robes), I held it up high. He glared, but I only looked down at him with an eyebrow raised. Despite we were on speaking terms again, I was a bit resentful for insinuating I didn't care for Sirius' welfare. My problem was that I probably tended to care _too much_ when Harry Potter was on the line.

"You're in public, wonder boy. Make sure you're safe before you even open it."

I knew he would ignore my advice completely when I turned to head back to Neville.

I completely skipped Potions in favor of reading my letter, even though I knew there would be nothing more of length than one page.

_Dear Anya,_

_Harry's a worst liar than his father was. Now that I'm back on the country, I'll keep tabs on you two. Moony has been writing to me about your status and I think I'll be able to visit Hogsmeade after the Holidays. No promises._

_Because I don't trust Harry to tell me everything of importance, I want you to post me anything that happens at Hogwarts, including the teachers' behaviors. I know I'm asking too much of you already, but please, look after Harry; I have the feeling something is going to happen. Whenever you write back, make sure you never use the same owl._

_And remember, if there's one slightest second you see Harry flinch because of his scar, go straight to Dumbledore._

_Sirius_

_PS. Do you think I'm Uncle material, or do you keep thinking of me as Sirius?_

_PSS. Moony says hello, and therefore, begs you to not answer my question. Isn't he a spoilsport?_

_PPS. Its Remus this time, Anya. Thea told me the news, give my congratulations to Marie for getting sorted in Ravenclaw, will you?_

_PPPS. Same. Give shorty a hug. Sirius_

I crushed the letter on my hand and pointed my wand at the corner. As the paper lit up, I watched the ashes fall inside the loo. When I walked out of the stall, I caught sight of the small smile on my face, and I wondered, if for a moment, if the Marauders had been a lot worse than they appeared on the letter.

* * *

"Should I even bother to ask, Miss Barton?" were the first words of Professor McGonagall when she saw me sitting on the marble stairs.

I smirked up at her, still holding my head with my left hand as I leaned my elbow on the railing.

I peered down at my wristwatch. "Wait for it..."

The bell rang.

I looked up, smiling.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, not at all amused.

"Where is your hat, Barton?"

I shrugged. "Around, I suppose. Why?"

Almost out of thin air, she pulled a black pointed hat, making me groan at the sight of it. She waited impatiently, and with a loud resigned sigh, I took it and put it on.

"Now that we're arranged, help me organize the first years, Barton?" said McGonagall. Though by the ways her cat-like eyes were glinting, there wasn't another option. I stood, just as the chatter echoed from the top of the stairs.

"You're no fair, Minnie," I grumbled.

The Heads of Houses arrived and they separated their own students; meanwhile, I waved my hat, calling loudly, "In order, each year by rows, from my right to left!", or, "Move aside, first years on the front!"

"Do they pay you for this?" asked Dennis Creevey curiously. It was kind of odd not seeing Marie by his side, they usually were attached to the hip - when Marie wasn't busy visiting me and my friends.

"No."

"They giving you points, then?"

"Neither."

He frowned. "I don't understand," he said.

Blowing a raspberry, I said, "That's how detention works; they make you do something you obviously don't like, it's their way of torture."

Dennis' eyes widened in horror. "They torture you?!"

I closed my eyes. "Oh, god."

"Already traumatizing the first years, Anne?" said Ron when I walked by the fourth years' row.

I glared at him. "Shut it."

"Imagine if you turn out to be a Prefect," he continued. He visibly shuddered.

"I have in good sources that will not happen, _ever_," I said dryly. "Now, do straighten your hat. Parvati, take your brooch off!"

Parvati Patil threw me a dirty look. She scowled, but otherwise removed the butterfly ornament from the end of her plait.

"You're enjoying this too much," said Harry amusedly.

"Better make the best of it."

Professor McGonagall eventually returned and sent me to the lines, taking over the rains. She led the Gryffindors to the front of the castle, where the rest of the Houses were already lining up. The clouds had shifted as the day wore on, settling on dusk, the moon barely visible over the Forbidden Forest.

"Nearly six," Ron said, checking his watch. He looked down the drive that led to the gates. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?"

"I doubt it," Hermione said.

"How then? Broomsticks?" Harry suggested, looking up at the starry sky.

"I don't think so...not from that far away..."

"A Portkey?" Ron suggested. "Or they could Apparate - maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?"

I snorted as Hermione voiced her annoyance at having to repeat it was impossible to Apparate inside Hogwarts.

I scanned the darkening grounds, except nothing was moving: everything was still, quiet and cold. Nothing out of the usual.

"They better hurry up," I complained to Neville. "My arse is freezing!"

Neville blushed, but before he could stutter out something, Dumbledore's voice rang excitedly from the back.

"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" many students asked eagerly, all looking in different directions.

_"There!"_ a sixth year yelled, pointing over the forest.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

"Don't be stupid," said Dennis. "It's a flying house!"

Dennis' guess hit closer than the rest: a gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and just as they neared faster, the castle's lights shone over and I saw that it was a gigantic, powderblue, horse-drawn carriage, almost the size of the St. Louise's Orphanage. Soaring toward Hogwarts, it was being pulled by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.

The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed - then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

The door fell open, and a boy in pale blue robes jumped down the carriage, carrying what appeared to be a set of golden steps. Settled, the boy sprang back respectfully, and a big, black high-heeled shoe emerged from the depths of the house-sized carriage. The size was explained immediately though, when the shoe was followed by largest woman I've ever seen in my life. She was certainly taller than Hagrid by one meter, at least, sturdier yet attractive; her skin was olive toned, her black shining eyes were framed by a round face, and her beaky nose seemed to match well with the rest. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.

Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," said Madam Maxime in a deep, throaty voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," Dumbledore said graciously.

Madam Maxime waved a hand carelessly behind her. Behind her, about a dozen boys and girls shivered as the cold air hit them. Their cloaks seemed to be made of silk, and a few of them wore scarves and shawls around their heads. They were staring apprehensively at the castle, and I could've sworn I saw one of the girls (a tall, beautiful girl with deep blue eyes - though not like Marie's) wrinkle her nose in distaste.

"My pupils," explained Maxime. "'As Karkaroff arrived yet?"

"He should be here any moment. Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," Madam Maxime said. "But ze 'orses -"

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," Dumbledore said smoothly, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other - er - charges."

"Skrewts," Ron muttered with a grin.

"My steeds require - er - forceful 'andling," Madam Maxime said, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong..."

"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Very well," Madam Maxime said, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"It will be attended to," Dumbledore said, also bowing.

"Allons-y," said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

"How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?" Seamus Finnigan said, leaning around Lavender and Parvati to address Harry and Ron.

"Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them," Harry said. "That's if he hasn't been attacked by his skewts. Wonder what's up with them?"

"Maybe they've escaped," Ron said hopefully.

"Oh don't say that," Hermione said as she and I shuddered. "Imagine that lot loose on the grounds..."

Many stared at the sky hopefully, shivering. Just as I was about to complain again, Neville said excitedly, "Did you see that?"

"Where?" I said, looking at him.

"The lake!" Lee Jordan shouted. "Look at the lake!"

The water began to ripple, a few bubbles forming on the surface; waves were now washing over the muddy banks - and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, and slowly a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the water.

"It's a mast!" Harry exclaimed.

"It's a ship!" said Neville in awe.

And slowly, in a magnificent way, the ship rose out of the Black Lake, gleaming eerily on the moonlight. There was this strange, menacing skeletal look about, making it seem as if it had been brought from the underworld, and the portholes looked like a pair of creepy, dimly lit eyes that belonged to a demon. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, there was a splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People were disembarking, I could tell by the few silhouettes I saw walking past the ship's portholes. For a moment, I though all of them probably were gruff, bulky men, and then, as they neared, the light coming from the Entrance Hall reveled them to wear cloaks of brown matter fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.

"Dumbledore!" he called heartily as he walked up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied. Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle I saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small, ridiculous curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he said, looking up at the castle. The smile on his face did not reach his eyes, which were cold and shrewd as they rested upon the building. "How good it is to be here, how good… Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…"

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, I caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows.

Ron punched Harry on the shoulder, and as his friend groaned, the redhead hissed, "Harry - _it's Krum_!"

And then, he gave a sigh and promptly fell.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, and as always, a shout-out to Lion's Wing. Your reviews always make my day, and you inspire me to continue with my story.**

**To whoever is interested, I created a playlist of The Barton Saga Soundtrack Vol. I, containing the songs I think suits Anya's life. For now, it only ranges from first to fourth year, and once I start the fifth, a second one will be made. The link is on my profile.**

**And just to remember all, the poll as to who should be Anya's partner at the Yule Ball is still open. By now, there's been a draw, but to come to a final decision, I need a few more votes.**

**R & R please!**


	14. A Death Sentence

**ANNOUNCEMENT!**

**First of all, I will start with an apology. Because I've been rewriting the entire fourth book as another story, I've caused a lot of misunderstands, so, _I am sorry_.**

**Second: to clear the confusion, the real and proper fourth book or year is **Tнє Bartoη Saga Book Four: The Masks We Wear**. The one called **Anya Barton Book Four: The Masks We Wear** is my original take on fourth year, and I'm merely keeping it because of my nostalgic feelings for it as I consider it a pretty success ****in the series****(despite my awful grammar, which I still have I admit). **

**Third and last: the fifth book, **Anya Barton Book Five: Just One More Lie,** will change of title to **Tнє Bartoη Saga Book Five: Just One More Lie**, and the first two chapters will be rewritten too. This will happen once I finish Year Four. If you're still confused or have questions, send me a PM or review and I will gladly answer back.**

**Once again, I'm sorry for the confusion. **

**crossMIRAGE19 off.**

* * *

"I don't even want to know why you keep a bottle of spices in your pockets," I muttered.

"Well, it's working, isn't it?" said Marie, and waved a small tube with reddish dust under Ron's nose. The effect was immediate: he sprang alive and straightened on his feet. Harry and Neville barely avoided being hit by his flailing arms.

Ron gasped. "I don't believe it!" He blindly searched for something to grasp - which happened to be Harry's neck. "Harry, did you see him? It's Krum, _Viktor Krum_!"

"Gee Ron, we didn't notice," I said sarcastically.

"For Heaven's sake, Ronald, he's only a Quidditch player," Hermione added.

"Only a Quidditch player?" Ron repeated, staring at her aghast. ("Oh god," Harry moaned quietly) "_Only a Quidditch player_?! Hermione - he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!"

We turned (not so subtly) to stare at Viktor Krum. He looked a bit intimidating: tall, dark, and brooding: his eyes were scanning the castle, often drifting to the students as they pointed at him excitedly. His eyes fell on us for a moment, but he looked away, uninterested.

Ron hugged Harry's head to his side. "He looked at us!" he hissed. "Quick - any of you got a quill?"

Hermione huffed. "Honestly!"

"Come on," I pushed at Ron's back. "Let's get inside before this turns out more creepier than it is."

"But -"

"No buts, Weasley!"

Ron kept oogling at Viktor Krum on the way to the Great Hall. He was not the only one, of course: Lee Jordan was jumping to catch sight of the Quidditch player, and when we passed a group of sixth year girls, they were looking over at him, giggling. I found their reactions quite ridiculous, more so when I heard one of them ask if he would consider signing her hat with lipstick. It made me wonder how Krum could stand it, or if his classmates did the same. As much as I tried to I couldn't imagine the Durmstrang lot jumping and giggling, when their facial expressions were even worse than Marie's.

"Don't sit there!" said Ron to Neville. He pushed him to the next seat and sat himself. His chair was facing the doorway of the Great Hall, and I couldn't but notice Krum and a few other students from Durmstrang seemed lost about where to sit. The Beauxbatons Delegation had chosen to sit with the Ravenclaws.

When three girls from Beauxbatons started to shiver violently, Hermione said, defensively, "It's not _that_ cold. Why didn't they bring cloaks?"

I shrugged. "Fashion before safety."

"Hello!"

My head snapped to the side. To my astonishment, I was staring at a pair of familiar silver eyes. The more I stared, I realized they had a blue tint around the iris.

"Can I sit here? Thank you!"

James dropped unceremoniously in the seat on my left. He started nodding to himself, staring at the ceiling with wide, curious eyes.

It have been a while since this boy had crossed my mind. Or yet, since the first time I met him. He still seemed to be as odd and suicidal as I'd pegged him back at the camp, but now, he seemed more calm, if not a bit excited. I also noticed he was wearing a long, brown coat of matted fur, except his didn't seem as hairy as the rest of Durmstrang's.

Seeing my friends staring at him, I quickly turned and poked him on the shoulder.

He started. When James finally looked at me, he did a double take, and a grin took over his face. His handsome face took me by surprise for a moment, but by the time I recovered, he was already speaking.

"Anya, the not some damsel in distress!" he said. "Fancy seeing you here!"

The strange glint that sparkled in his eyes told me that his choice of seating was not a coincidence at all.

"You two know each other?" Neville asked cautiously.

"No -" I started, but James said, "Yes!"

There was a pause. Then, "Yes -", just as he said, "No."

I sighed, staring at the ceiling incredulously. By the next time we tried, we said, "Yes and no."

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville stared at us.

"Blimey," said Ron faintly. You could almost hear a pin dropping despite the chatter around us.

"Yeah." I breathed. I pointed at James with my thumb. "Guys, this is James and - well, I met him back at the Quidditch World Cup."

"When?" Hermione asked. By the way she was squinting her eyes, I supposed she was trying to remember at which point did she see him while we had walked around the camp.

"Um, when the Death Eaters attacked."

They stared at me uncomfortably.

James, bless his soul, spoke again. "Hello!" he chirped. "Nice to meet you!"

I closed my eyes. Trust me to find the oddest people ever.

"So, Durmstrang?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Ah."

Hermione cleared her throat, looking at me pointedly. I sagged in relief.

"James, this are my friends," I pointed at each one as I spoke, "Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and to my other side is Neville Longbottom."

"Oh, nice to meet you." James didn't blink at all when I said Harry's name. He shook everyone's hands and sat back, craning his neck to look around. "Is this gold?" he said suddenly, picking the goblet in front of him.

"I don't think so," said Hermione carefully. "Why?"

"No reason. Not yet, anyways." He looked up, and then said abruptly, "Oh look, Viktor Krum just sat with Draco Malfoy."

Ron jumped. "What?!" he hissed, standing up to look at the Slytherin table. "Hermione, there was space enough next to you! Why didn't you budge over?"

"Because he was with friends, Ron, and it is not like the rest of them would have preferred to sit on our laps," said Hermione scathingly.

As Hermione and Ron bickered, I stared at James with narrowed eyes. He'd obviously distracted them, but why?

He met my eyes eventually: with an eyebrow raised, James smirked. It was lopsided, resembling half a smile. For some strange reason, it seemed as if he knew something I didn't. I didn't like it, not one bit.

"So," he started. For the first time, he sounded serious. "Anya Barton."

I squinted up at him.

"Yes?"

He shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just -" he gestured at me with a finger "- I imagined you quite different." He spoke as if he was disappointed with what he saw.

"What you see, is what you get," I snapped, puffing out one cheek. "If you searched for more, I would've suggested you sat with that lot," I pointed at the Beauxbatons girls. I'd forgotten how much annoying this boy could be.

James stared down at me for a moment. Then, to my surprise, he laughed.

"Oh, Barton," he said between chuckles. "You and I'll get along just fine."

_I doubt it_, I thought.

When all the students finally settled, the staff entered. Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime were the last to enter. The Beauxbatons Delegation had stood when their Headmistress appeared, and they did not sit nor look embarrassed when a few students from Hogwarts laughed until Madame Maxime sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbeldore remained standing, and silence fell over the Great Hall.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and most particularly guests," said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

The same beautiful girl with blue eyes from before gave a derisive laugh.

"No one's making you stay!" Hermione hissed.

"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," said Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

He sat down and he and Karkaroff engaged into a conversation.

The plates filled with food as usual, except there were a few dishes I definitely recognized as french cuisine from the times I worked as a waitress back at St. Louise's. The rest of the food was also of foreign origin but I didn't recognize anything else.

"What's that?" said Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.

"Bouillabaisse," said Hermione.

"Bless you," said Ron.

"It's French," said Hermione, "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."

James poked at it with his fork but didn't comment anything.

"I'll take your word for it," said Ron, helping himself to black pudding.

At some point, James took off his coat and I blinked as my view was suddenly full of blood-red.

"Whoa," I muttered unconsciously.

James hummed. "Distracting isn't it? Then again, it could be me."

Twenty minutes later since the start of the feast, Hagrid arrived and we all waved at him in greeting, with Harry inquiring about the Skrewts. Just as Ron commented about Hagrid's next loss of fingers, the girl with deep blue eyes came behind Ron and Harry.

"Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?" she asked in her thick accent. Up to this close, I noticed her teeth were unnaturally white and perfect, and now that she wasn't wearing a muffler, her long silvery-blond hair fell almost past her waist. She looked at us with a critical eye, stopping briefly to stare at Harry and James in appreciation, but her gaze returned to Ron.

He was sitting very still, his face slowly turning red and purple from the lack of respiration. He was gaping up at the girl, the plate containing the black pudding on his hand. Ron opened his mouth and a gurgle came out instead. Thankfully, Harry jumped to his aid and took the plate from, offering it to the french girl.

"You 'ave finished wiz it?"

"Yeah," Ron said breathlessly. "Yeah, it was excellent."

The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron stared after the girl as if he had never seen one up-close. When it started to get annoying, I grabbed one of the chips and tossed it at his head. It successfully hit its target, and Ron snapped out of his reverie.

"She's a veela!" he said hoarsely.

"Of course she isn't!" said Hermione tartly. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!"

She wasn't right: as the girl crossed the Hall, many heads turned in her way, looking just as speechless as Ron had.

"I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!" Ron said, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"

I raised and eyebrow, leaning back on my seat. "Excuse me?"

"They make them okay at Hogwarts," said Harry quickly to appease me. However, he kept shooting small glances at the Ravenclaw table, specifically, where Cho Chang sat along the silvery-blond.

This particularly made me more annoyed than I already was.

"When you've both put your eyes back in," said Hermione briskly, "you'll be able to see who's just arrived."

She was pointing up at the staff table. The two remaining empty seats had just been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's other side, while Mr. Crouch, Percy's boss, was next to Madame Maxime.

"What are _they_ doing here?" Harry asked in surprise.

"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" said Hermione. "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."

There were different dishes too when the second course arrived. Ron moved a plate of blancmange so it was clearly visible to see from the Ravenclaw table in hopes the silvery-blond girl would come back. She didn't.

Once the golden cutlery had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood.

"The moment has come," he started, and everyone leaned in anticipation; the thrill and excitement was almost palpable. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket —"

"The what?" Neville muttered.

" - just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" - there was a smattering of polite applause - "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

I clapped politely.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts," Dumbledore said. "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Argus Filch approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else's.

"The instructions the champions have to face have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore as Filch left the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced through the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways; their magical powers- their daring- their powers of deduction- and, of course, their ability of cope with danger."

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

"To ensure that no underage students yields to temptations, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion."

His eyes grew serious. "Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

* * *

My eye was twitching by the time I arrived at the Great Hall. Unlike other Saturdays (and normal people too), today everyone was sitting at the tables, staring excitedly at the Goblet while they ate. It had been placed in the center of the Hall on the stool that normally was brought for the Sorting. A thin golden line had been traced around the stool, forming a circle of... ten feet radius, I think? Because I was a normal person, I was the only one late for breakfast it appeared.

The Weasley twins were dancing around the circle, each of them holding a thin piece of paper in their hands. One of them - Fred or George - took a leap of faith, and stepped inside the circle. There was silence - then, with a loud yell of triumph, the other twin followed.

Perhaps I was still dreaming. There was a second in which, George and Fred were thrown away from the Goblet, and when they tried to stand, they were wearing long, white beards, their faces a little wrinkled. They nearly matched Dumbledore's.

"Oh my god, what did I drink?" I muttered with wide eyes.

"Nothing wrong, I assure you, Anya," said a deeply amused voice behind me. The laughs quieted down as Dumbledore stepped beside me. "But, I did warn you," he addressed the Weasley twins. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards are anything as fine as yours."

"A little bit biased, aren't we, sir?" I said quietly as I stared after the twins, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing.

The Headmaster nodded. His blue eyes were twinkling. "Perhaps. Have an excellent breakfast, Miss Barton."

I saluted with two fingers. "Quite right too, sir."

The decorations had been changed. As it was Halloween, bats were flying up in the ceiling, not slowing down nor getting closer to the tables. This year, the pumpkins were carefully placed between the tables in rows: it was clear it had been done so Madam Maxime wouldn't hit her head by accident.

Just when I sat across from Neville and Marie, James plopped down my left.

"Isn't your Headmaster wicked or what?!"

Marie blinked owlishly at him, watching as he slurped his soup in the most indecorous way. It was then that I noticed he was doing it to keep the Beauxbatons girls away, as a very large proportion of females slowly began to disappear.

"Who are you?" said Marie in contempt, narrowing her eyes.

It appeared he had not noticed her at all. Looking away from his food, he stared at her for the first time, doing a double take. Blankly, his eyes scanned her face and lingered on her robe, where her House crest was knitted, and finally settled on her eyes.

"James Rigel," he said. I was surprised to hear his surname as he had not bothered to offer it the last time. "And you are..."

"Harlaown, Marie," she said and fell silent. However, her gaze never strayed from his.

I looked between the two of them. Finally, it was Neville who broke the awkward moment by clearing his throat.

"So..." he started hesitantly. "How about we take a stroll around the castle?"

"Like a tour?"

"If you like to think so," said Neville.

Just as Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor's Chaser in Quidditch, came in grinning, I turned away from the cheers and noticed they were all looking at me, waiting for my answer.

"Er, a tour doesn't sound bad... yeah, let's get out of here."

* * *

"I think we are lost," said Neville fretfully as we rounded the corner.

"Nonsense!" James said as we passed the same armor from an hour ago.

"We are lost, moron," I snapped, at the same time Marie said, "Hello Peeves!"

Neville, who was a constant target to the Poltergeist's pranks, instantly took off. "RUN!"

* * *

"Ouch! What was that for?!" James was rubbing his head, wincing. He was also glaring at Marie, whose expression was different from normal, nearly looking pleased. I held the book that hit him, looking through it with interest.

Marie raised her hands innocently. "I didn't do it - it was the Nargles."

James spluttered. "The what?"

* * *

After two more places, I began to notice the animosity between James and Marie. No matter where we were, Marie acted cold toward him despite the boy's efforts to make her like him, but he didn't seem to care, not much anyways. Eventually, Marie left to find Dennis, and after a few walks around the grounds, a boy from Durmstrang came and yelled at James in his native language, and he left too, leaving me with Neville. We talked about our summers as we didn't have the time to do so in the last two months. The talk of what happened after Mad-Eye's first class was always overshadowing us, but somehow we managed to avoid it easily.

By the time we returned to the castle, it was already dark and the Beauxbatons students and their Headmaster were making their way inside Hogwarts. I blinked, looking to Madam Maxime's left and I tilted my head to the side. "What the hell is that?"

My eyes followed the tall, familiar figure of Hagrid, who for some strange circumstance was wearing his hairy (and only) brown suit, along with the orange tie with yellow spots he wore for Buckbeak's trial four months ago. His bushy hair was held back into a low ponytail, and even from this distance, I could tell he smelt odd.

Neville was openly gaping at sight. "What is Hagrid _wearing_?"

"Hagrid fancies Madam Maxime." I half-turned. Ron was standing behind me, crouching slightly as he peered over Neville's shoulder (the Durmstrang boys were walking little ahead of us, Viktor Krum in view).

"Is that why he smells?" I asked, torn between wanting to laugh or wanting to go and charm Hagrid myself.

"It's his eau de cologne," said Harry, still looking after him shocked.

"I thought it was aftershave," said Hermione as she smoothed down a laugh.

"Are you sure it ain't Dungbombs?" I muttered, wrinkling my nose.

The Great Hall was candlelit when we entered and most of the light came from the Goblet of Fire, which had been placed in front of Dumbledore's empty chair. James nor Marie came to sit in the Gryffindor table.

When dinner began, not many seemed enthusiastic to eat. Contrary to them, I was starving, and as I ate, I heard many talking about who would be chosen. Angelina Johnson and Cedric Diggory were tied, I assumed by the way they were cheered on.

Before I knew it, the food the disappeared and the chatter died immediately. Professor Dumbledore stood slowly - too slowly for my taste - and looked around solemnly. On either side of him, Madam Maxime and Professor Karkaroff looked equally tense; Ludo Bagman was beaming and Barty Crouch looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" - he indicated the door behind the staff table - "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and waved it; at once, all the candles except the ones inside the pumpkins were extinguished. If it wasn't for the Goblet of Fire's blue-white flames, we would be in the dark.

"Any second," Lee Jordan, friend of the Weasley twins, whispered excitedly.

The flames inside the goblet suddenly turned red, sparks flying from it. Next moment, there was a burst of flames, a thin piece of parchment shooting into the air. As it gently floated, Dumbledore caught it, the flames on the goblet turning blue again.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" Ron yelled over the cheers and clapping. I saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

"It's her, Ron!" Harry shouted as the girl with unnatural beauty got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the rest of the Beauxbatons' party. Two of the girls who had probably gotten their names into the goblet had burst into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

"Bit of an understatement, innit?" I said.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement I could almost taste it; we were seconds from knowing who was the Hogwarts Champion...

And the Goblet of Fire red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

The uproar from the Hufflepuff table was deafening. Every single one of them had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. The applause went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent! Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real -"

He stopped short. I followed his gaze and saw, with growing confusion, that the Goblet of Fire had turned red once more. Sparks began to shot out of it more violently than the last times, and like the last times, a thin piece of paper appeared on the air. Dumbledore stared as it floated down and automatically caught it between his fingers. He held it out to the light, and his expression changed into disbelief as he read out the name sounding like a death sentence.

"_Harry Potter_."

And looking back at it, it pretty much was one.

* * *

**A friendly reminder that the poll about the Yule Ball is still open, and also, I have created a tracklist of the Barton Saga for the first four years. Search the link on my profile. :)**


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